GOES INTO POLITICS. ARRESTED. LODGED IN PRISON. ELECTED TOWN COUNCILLOR,
MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT, &C.
In 1846, I began to dabble in politics. And my views of political
subjects were as much out of the ordinary way as my views on matters
pertaining to religion. I was a republican. I would have no King, no
Queen, no House of Lords, and no State Church. I would abolish the laws
of entail and primogeniture, and reduce land to a level with other kinds
of property. The sale of land should be as untrammelled as that of
common merchandise, and it should be as liable to be taken for debt. I
broached startling views with regard to the right of property in land,
and urged that as it was naturally common property, it should be
considered as belonging, in part, to the nation, or Government, and made
to bear the principal burden of taxation. I recommended that the
property of the church should be used for the promotion of education. I
proposed to divide the country into equal electoral districts, and give
to every man who was not a criminal, a vote for members of Parliament.
As a rule, I held up America as an example in matters of government, but
objected to a Senate and a four years' President, preferring to place
all power in the hands of one Body, the direct representatives of the
people. A committee of that Body should be the _ministry_, and the
chairman of that committee the President.
I really believed that this would be the perfection of Government. And
if all men were naturally good, as Unitarianism taught, what could be
wiser or better calculated to secure the happiness of a nation, than to
give every one an equal share of the power? I believed with Paine, that
a pure and unqualified democracy would secure the strictest economy, the
greatest purity, the best laws, and the most perfect administration of
the laws. I also believed that a pure unmixed democracy would prevent
insurrections, rebellions, and civil war, and that it would promote
peace with all the world. True, I believed the people would require
education, but I also believed that an ultra democracy would see to it
that the people _were_ educated, and educated in the best possible way.
Were not the people educated in America? And were we not taught that the
educational system of America was the result of its democratic form of
Government? And were not Price and Priestley democrats? And were not
Channing and Parker, the two great lights of Unitarianism in America,
democrats? Democracy then was the remedy for the evils of the world; the
one thing needful to the salvation of our race.
More extravagant or groundless notions have seldom entered the mind of
man. Yet I accepted them as the true political gospel, and exerted
myself to the utmost to propagate them among the masses of my
countrymen. The Irish reformers demanded a repeal of the Union and the
right of self-government. I advocated both repeal for Ireland and
Republicanism for England. And in all my speeches and publications I
gave utterance to the bitterest reproaches against the aristocracy, and
against all who took their part. I had suffered grievously in my early
days. I had been subjected to all the hardships and miseries of extreme
poverty. I had spent three years on the verge of starvation, never
knowing, more than twice or thrice during the whole of that dreadful
period, what it was to have the gnawings of hunger appeased by a
plentiful meal. I had seen one near and dear to me perish for want of
food, and had escaped the same sad fate myself by a kind of miracle
only. And all these sufferings I believed to have been caused by the
corn and provision laws, enacted and maintained by the selfishness of
the aristocracy. I regarded the aristocracy therefore, and all who took
their part, as my personal enemies; as men who had robbed me of my daily
bread, and all but sent me to an untimely grave. I regarded them as the
greatest of criminals, as the enemies of the human race. I considered
them answerable for the horrors of the first great French Revolution,
and for the miseries of the Irish famine. I gave them credit for nothing
good. True, they had allowed the Reform Bill of 1831 to pass, but not
till they saw that a refusal would cause a revolution. They had accepted
free trade, but not till they saw that to reject it would be their ruin.
I had not then learnt that in legislating with an eye to their own
interests they had done no more than other classes are accustomed to do
when they get possession of power. I had not yet discovered that the
germs of selfish legislation and tyranny are sown in the hearts of all,
and that the faults of the higher classes prevail among all classes
under different forms. I saw the misdoings of the parties in power, and
looked no further, and I heaped on them the bitterest invectives. My
passionate hatred of the privileged classes, expressed in the plainest
English, and justified, apparently, by so much that was bad in the
history of their doings, roused the indignation of my hearers and
readers to the highest pitch. I commenced a periodical, which at once
became a favorite with the ultra democrats, and speedily gained an
extensive circulation.
In 1847, in my _Companion to the Almanacs_, I foretold the French
Revolution of 1848. How it happened I do not exactly know; but I have,
at times, made remarkable guesses, and this perhaps was one of them.
When the Revolution took place it caused a tremendous excitement in
every nation in Europe. Kings and emperors found it necessary to promise
their subjects constitutional governments. It turned the heads of many
people in England. Numbers who had never been politicians before, became
politicians then. And many politicians who had previously been moderate
in their views, became wild and revolutionary. The Chartists clamored
for "the Charter, the whole Charter, and nothing but the Charter."
Meetings were held in almost every part of the country, and speeches
were delivered, and publications were circulated, of a most inflammatory
character. Monster demonstrations were got up, and many who did not take
part in them encouraged them, in hopes that they would frighten the
Government into large concessions to the party of reform. A meeting of
the leading reformers was called in London, and I was present. Young
Stansfield, now member of Parliament, was there, and Sergeant Parry, and
Edward Miall, and Henry Vincent, and a number of others. The Chartists
arranged for a convention in London, and I was sent as a member. The
meeting cut but a pitiful figure. It soon got into unspeakable disorder.
The second day the question was, "What means should we recommend our
constituents to use in order to obtain the reforms they desired?" I,
extravagant as I had shown myself on many points, had always set myself
against resort to violence. My counsel therefore was for peaceful, legal
measures. Ernest Jones and several others clamored for organization,
with a view to an armed insurrection. By and by we got into confusion
again. Some one hinted that agents of the Government were present, and
that we were venturing on dangerous ground. Ernest Jones replied, "It is
not for us to be afraid of the Government, but for the Government to be
afraid of us." Confusion got worse confounded. I began to be ashamed of
my position. Mad as I was, I was not insane enough for the leaders of
the convention, so I started home.
On Good Friday there was an immense meeting on Skircoat Moor, near
Halifax, and I was one of the speakers. It was the largest assembly I
ever saw. The Speakers that preceded me talked about the uselessness of
talk, and called for action. I talked about the usefulness of talk, and
contended that resort to violence would be both folly and wickedness.
While I was speaking, a man in the crowd on my left fired a pistol, as
if to intimidate me, and encourage the party favorable to insurrection.
I at once denounced him as a traitor, who had come to hurry the people
into crime, or a madman, whom no one ought for a moment to think of
imitating. The physical force men were terribly vexed at my remarks, but
the mass of the meeting applauded my counsels, and the immense concourse
dispersed and went home, without either perpetrating a crime, or meeting
with an accident.
My advocacy of peace was duly appreciated by some even of those who
lamented the extravagance of my views on other subjects. Others looked
on me with unmitigated horror. And the feelings of the richer classes
generally against me rose to such a pitch at length, that it was hardly
safe for me to go abroad after dark. My religious and political
opponents joined their forces, and seemed bent on my destruction. They
believed I was undermining the foundations of society, and throwing all
things into confusion. They looked on me as little better than a madman,
scattering abroad firebrands, arrows, and death. And many treated me as
a kind of outlaw, as a man who had no rights that anybody was bound to
respect; and rude boys and reckless men took liberties with my property,
and even threatened me with death. Insurance companies would not insure
my property. Schoolmasters would not admit my sons into their schools,
lest others should take their children away. Mothers would not allow
their daughters to play with my little daughter, lest she should infect
them with her father's heresies.
After the Summer Assizes in 1848, the judge at Liverpool issued Bench
warrants for the arrest of a number of political agitators, and in the
list of the names of those parties, published in the newspapers, mine
was included. As I had always kept within the limits of the law, and as
I had received no visit from the police, I supposed that my name had
been inserted in the list by mistake. And as I was allowed to remain at
large for six weeks, I felt confident that it was either some other
Joseph Barker that was wanted, or that my name had been mentioned as one
of the parties to be arrested, in jest, or to frighten me into silence.
And the probability is, that if I had kept at home and remained quiet, I
should have been permitted to go on with my business undisturbed. But I
had an engagement at the end of six weeks, to give two political
lectures at Bolton. Just about that time a vacancy occurred in the
representation of that Borough, and my friends there, without consulting
me, put me forward as a candidate for the vacant seat, and announced my
lectures as a statement of my political views, urging the people to come
and hear me, and judge for themselves, whether I was not the fittest man
to represent them in the National Legislature.
I gave my first lecture on a Friday night, to a crowded and excited
audience in the Town Hall, and when I had done, the people passed a
resolution by acclamation, to the effect that I was just the man for
them, and that they would have no other.
On the Saturday I went on into Wales, to fulfil an engagement which I
had for the Sunday, and returned on Monday to give my second lecture.
When I got near to Bolton, some friends met me, and told me that the
police from Manchester were in the town looking for me, and that I had
better go right home. I said, "Nay, I never broke an engagement yet, and
I won't do so now;" so I went on. As soon as I had rested myself a
little I went direct to the head of the Manchester police, and asked him
if he would not allow me to deliver my lecture, promising, if he wished
it, to go with him quietly afterwards. He said, No, I could not be
allowed to deliver my lecture, and added, that I must consider myself
his prisoner. I, of course, offered no resistance, but at his request
went with him at once to the railway station. The people had already
collected in the streets as I passed along, and there was soon an
excited crowd at the station, but I and my friends urged them to be
peaceful, and peaceful they were. We were soon at Manchester, and I was
taken at once to the City Jail, where lodgings had been procured for me
at the public expense. I passed the night in an underground cell, of the
kind provided for criminals of the baser sort. It was anything but clean
and sweet, and the conduct of the authorities in placing me in such a
hole, when I was not even charged with any gross offence, was neither
wise nor just. There were some raised boards on one side, but no bed, no
sheets, no blankets.
It was not long before a number of friends who had heard of my arrest,
called to see me, and were admitted to my dungeon. They brought some
food, some candles, and as they had been informed that I had not been
permitted to wash myself before being locked up, one of them, a lady,
brought me a moistened towel with which to wipe my face. While these
kind friends were trying to make things comfortable for me in my prison,
others were running to and fro in search of bail, with a view to my
speedy release. One dear, good soul, Mr. Travers Madge, when he heard
that I was in jail, started at once for Mossley, a distance of ten or
eleven miles, to see Mr. Robinson, a faithful friend, to request him to
come to my help. It was two o'clock in the morning when, weary and full
of anxiety, he knocked at Mr. Robinson's door. Mr. Robinson rose as soon
as he heard his voice, and took him into the house, and requested him to
take something to eat, and go to rest till daylight, promising to start
with him back to Manchester by the earliest conveyance. But poor Mr.
Madge could neither eat nor sleep till his friend was out of prison.
Early in the morning I was brought into court. Bail was offered at once,
but the magistrates would not accept bail so early, though offered by
well-known and thoroughly respectable parties. The reason was, the
election was to take place at Bolton that day, and the magistrates were
afraid that if I were allowed to be present, there might be more
excitement than would be consistent with the peace and safety of the
Borough. So they kept me in prison till four o'clock, when they received
intelligence that the election was over, and that all was peaceful. They
then set me at liberty. I went at once to Bolton, and found, sure
enough, that I had been elected, and that by an immense majority, of
more than eight to one. And as no one else was elected at that time,
either by show of hands or a poll, I was, in truth, the only legal
representative, though I never sat in Parliament. Explanations after.
I was soon surrounded by a vast multitude of people, to whom I gave a
short address. As soon as I could get away from the excited crowd, I
hastened home. A friend had started for Wortley as soon as I was out of
prison, to inform my wife and children that I was safe and at liberty,
and he was there when I arrived. It fortunately happened that my family
heard of my imprisonment and of my liberation at the same time, and from
the same lips, so that the shock they received was not so severe as it
might have been. But they were terribly tried. It would be vain to
attempt to describe their feelings when they saw me enter the house. I
did my best to comfort them, and assured them that I should take no
hurt.
I was bound over to appear to take my trial at the Winter Assizes on a
charge of sedition and conspiracy, and I set to work to prepare for the
event. A good kind friend residing at Barnard Castle, George Brown,
Esq., who had helped me in my contests with my theological opponents,
helped me in this new trial. He had studied the law all his life, and
was a most faithful and trustworthy adviser. He directed me what steps
to take, and all his instructions proved wise and good.
My friends set on foot a subscription, to procure for me the ablest
defence, and raised, in the course of a few weeks, from two to three
hundred pounds. I am amazed when I look back to those days, at the
number and ardor of my friends, and at the eagerness with which they
hastened to my aid.
Some friends from Holbeck, in the Borough of Leeds, requested me to
allow myself to be put forward as a candidate for the Town Council at
the approaching election. Not thinking that I should have any chance of
being elected, I hesitated; but as they expressed a contrary opinion,
and seemed exceedingly anxious that I should place myself in their
hands, I complied with their request. They elected me by the largest
number of votes that had ever been given for a town councillor in any
borough in the kingdom up to that time. My neighbors chose this method
of testifying their regard for me, and of protesting against the conduct
of the Government in interfering with my liberty.
At length the Assizes came. I made my appearance in court at the time
appointed, with more than thirty voluntary witnesses by my side, all
prepared to testify, that in my lectures and public speeches I had
uniformly advocated peaceful measures, and denounced everything in the
shape of conspiracy, violence, or insurrection. I waited ten days for my
trial, attending in court all the time. I watched the trials of other
political prisoners, and was not a little discouraged to find that they
were all convicted, and sentenced, generally, to lengthy terms of
imprisonment. The charge against one of the prisoners was, that he had
sold and circulated seditious publications. Copies of the works which he
was charged with circulating were brought into court. What were my
feelings when I found that the publications were my own _Companion to
the Almanacs_, and my weekly periodical _The People_. These works were
handed about the court, and placed in the hands of the judge. The man
was convicted, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment. What chance was
there now for me? My solicitor advised me to plead guilty, telling me I
should thus get off with a lighter punishment; but I refused. Some _did_
plead guilty, and _did_ get off with lighter punishments than those who
stood their trial; but I was determined to have a public trial, or else
be honorably discharged.
It was alarming enough to see a man convicted for selling my
publications: but something still more alarming happened the following
day. A most unprincipled and lying witness was brought forward by the
Attorney-General. During the trial of one of the Chartist leaders he
swore that he had himself formed one of a band of conspirators in
Manchester, who pledged themselves to burn the city, and who had
prepared the most destructive combustibles to secure the success of
their horrible plot. When asked to name the parties composing the
meeting at which he said he had been present, he named me as one. I was
horrified. I had never seen the man before in all my life, and the idea
that I should be a party to such a plot as he had described, was
monstrous; but what was to hinder a prejudiced or a frightened jury from
believing his testimony? Fortunately for me, the Judge asked him if he
saw in court, and could point out, any of the persons he had named as
parties to the conspiracy. I stood within two or three yards of him, and
looked him full in the face. It was plain from the way in which his
wandering eyes passed by me, that whatever other parties he might know,
he did not know me. At length he pointed out a person that he said was
present at the secret meeting. 'What is his name?' said the Judge. The
fellow gave a name. It was not the right one. He pointed out another.
'What is his name?' said the Judge again. The fellow gave a name. He was
wrong again. The court got out of patience with the villain, and the
Judge ordered him into custody to await his trial on a charge of
perjury. This was an unspeakable relief both to me and to my anxious
wife and friends, who had witnessed the dreadful affair with the most
intense anxiety and alarm.
Some time after this horrible exhibition of baseness, my solicitor came
to me and told me that he had had an interview with the
Attorney-General, and that he had authorized him to say, that if I would
enter into bonds and give securities to keep the peace, he would not ask
me to plead guilty, but set me at liberty without more to do. He even
offered, at last, to accept my own recognizances to the small amount of
fifty pounds, without any other security. I refused the offer. To give
bonds to keep the peace seemed like an acknowledgment that I had
attempted or threatened to break it; and I had done no such thing. My
solicitor said the offer was a very generous one, and pressed me very
earnestly to accept it: my counsel did the same; but without effect. A
number of friends came round me and tried to remove my objections to the
measure: but all was vain. I was sorry to go against their advice, but
my feeling was, that to agree to the compromise proposed would be a
sacrifice of principle, and would entail dishonor on me, and be followed
by self-reproach and shame. At last, to obtain a little respite, and to
get out of the way of my importunate friends for a time, I told my
solicitor that I would lay the matter before my wife, and that whatever
she might advise, I would do. He agreed to this. He was satisfied that
there was not a woman in the country that would not advise her husband
to make a concession like that required of me, rather than see him run
the risk of two or three years' imprisonment.
My wife was at Southport just then, some eighteen miles away, and it was
too late for me to get to her that evening, so I had to spend the night
alone in Liverpool. I went to bed, but found it impossible to sleep. My
anxious mind kept turning over and over the proposal of the
Attorney-General, and trying to find some good reason for accepting it;
but all in vain. I had promised to be guided by my wife; but suppose she
should counsel me to give the required security, could I do so and be
happy? It seemed impossible. It struck twelve,--it struck
one--two--three, and I was still unsettled. At last I said, 'I will
explain my misgivings to my wife,--I will tell her that I feel as if I
should never be happy to consent to the compromise,--that I cannot get
rid of the feeling that it would be dishonorable. And I know she will
never advise me to do anything that I regard as dishonorable.' As soon
as I had fairly decided what to do, I fell asleep.
I was at Southport in the morning by the earliest conveyance, and laid
the matter before my wife. 'Do nothing,' said she, 'that you regard as a
sacrifice of principle, or an act of dishonor. Whatever you believe to
be your duty, do it; I am willing to take the consequences.' I answered,
'I believe it my duty to insist on a trial, or on an honorable
discharge,' 'Then insist on it,' said she. That was enough. I returned
to Liverpool at once, and told my solicitor the result of my interview
with my wife, and he communicated the intelligence to the
Attorney-General. The Attorney-General was very much vexed, and, using
an expression which we cannot with propriety repeat, declared that he
would 'make me squeak.'
The result of my refusal was that the Attorney-General put off my case
to the very last. On the eleventh day of the Assizes I was placed in the
dock with a number of prisoners who had agreed to plead guilty, and
enter into bonds. My name was called at length, and I refused either to
plead guilty, or to be bound to keep the peace. 'Can there be any man
so foolish as not to accept the mercy of her Majesty?' said the Judge.
My answer was, that I had committed no crime, and that it was justice
that I wanted, and not mercy. 'I demand a trial,' said I, 'or an
honorable discharge. I have been arrested on a charge of sedition and
conspiracy, and held up before the world as a criminal, and I claim the
right of justifying myself before the public, unless I am honorably
discharged.' The Judge said I had no need to concern myself about the
public,--that the public did not concern itself about me. I answered
that the public _did_ concern itself about me; and that I was right in
concerning myself about the public. At this point my Counsel rose, and
spoke of my character and position, with a view to justify my demand for
a trial, or an honorable discharge. The Attorney-General then applied
for a postponement of my trial to the following Assizes, alleging that I
was the author of a seditious and blasphemous publication. I said the
statement was false, and that the Attorney-General had no right to make
such a charge against me, and added that to ask a postponement after I
and my witnesses had been waiting there eleven days, was most
unreasonable. The Judge then asked on what grounds a postponement was
desired. When the Attorney-General stated his grounds, the Judge
pronounced them insufficient. The Attorney-General then said he should
enter a _nolle prosequi_. Some of my friends, when they heard this, were
greatly alarmed. They supposed it to be a threat of something very
terrible, and expected to see me carried away at once to prison. And
some of the bystanders began to reproach me, and say I was rightly
served for not accepting the generous offer of the Attorney-General. I,
of course, knew that the Attorney-General's _nolle prosequi_ meant that
he would have nothing more to do with me, and that I was now free. While
therefore my friends were fearing and trembling, I stood calm and
comfortable. After a few moments the Judge said 'You are at liberty, and
may retire.'
When my friends found that I was free, they were wild with delight, and
flocked round me, eager to shake me by the hand, and give me their
congratulations. They were now satisfied that in rejecting the proposal
of the Attorney-General, I had done no more than my duty. One
gentleman, who had been bail for me, was extravagant enough to declare
that I occupied the proudest position of any man in the country. 'You
have withstood the tyranny of the Government,' said he, 'and have
triumphed.' I hurried home as fast as I could with my happy wife and my
exulting friends. When we got there the cannon were roaring and the
bands playing. My workmen and neighbors had heard of my triumph, and
were celebrating it in the noisiest way they could. Then followed
feasting and public congratulations, both at home and in distant parts
of the country, and for a time I was quite a hero.
The interference of the authorities with my liberty, and the needless
annoyances to which they had subjected me, had roused my indignation to
a high pitch, and after my liberation, I wrote and spoke more violently
against the Government than I had done before. At length the great
excitement in which I had so long lived, and the excessive labors in
which I had been so long engaged, exhausted my strength; my health began
to fail; I thought my constitution was giving way, so I resolved on some
change of position and occupation.
I had long suffered from dyspepsia. For twenty years I had spent so much
nervous energy in mental work, that I had not sufficient left to digest
my food. And I had suffered in consequence, not only from violent
heart-burn, but from a more distressing pain at the pit of my stomach. I
had continually, or almost continually, for months together, a feeling
as if a red-hot bullet lay burning in my stomach, or as if some living
creature was eating a hole through the bottom of it. I took medicine,
but it gave me no relief. The disuse of intoxicating drinks had once
cured me for a time,--cured me for some years in fact,--but the
torturing, depressing sensation came again at last, and seemed more
obstinate than ever.
In 1847, as I was leaving home one day in the train, I was seized with a
pain of a much more dreadful description. It seemed as if it would burst
my stomach, or tear it in pieces, and destroy my life at once. It
continued for nearly an hour. It returned repeatedly, and remained
sometimes for several hours. In some cases it tortured me all night.
Vomiting took it away, so I frequently took warm water to produce
vomiting. I was advised to take more exercise in the open air, so I
bought a gun and went out shooting. I purchased a horse and carriage
too, and went out riding. These did me good. But I found that when I
took certain kinds of food, such as rich cakes, rich pies, or rich
puddings, the pain returned. So I began to deny myself of those
luxuries. But even spare living seemed to lose its effect after a time,
and first the gnawing, and then the stretching, tearing, rending pain
returned.
In 1849, I took a voyage to America. Vast numbers of my readers wanted
to emigrate to America, and they looked to me for information respecting
the country. I had given them the best I could get, but they wanted more
and better. They wanted me to visit the country, and give them the
result of my observations and inquiries. I did so. To fit myself the
better for giving them counsel, I crossed the ocean in a common emigrant
sailing vessel, and saw how the poor creatures fared. We were nearly
eight weeks on the water. For much of the time the winds were idle. They
refused to blow. They might have struck for shorter hours or better pay.
When they did blow, they blew with all their might, but almost always in
the wrong direction; as if they regarded us as their enemies, and were
bent on giving us all the annoyance they could. Many were sick; more
were discontented; and all longed wearily for land. These eight weeks
were the longest ones I ever lived. They looked like years. At length we
got a sight of land, and rejoiced exceedingly. For myself, I had other
feelings as well as joy, when I first got sight of the great New World
of which I had heard, and read, and thought so much, and so long, and of
which I had dreamt so often. For America had lived in my thoughts from
my early days; and the first faint glimpse of her wooded shores thrilled
my whole soul with unspeakable emotions.
We landed. I examined the emigrant boarding houses. I sought information
about work and wages, and about means of transport to the West. I called
on Horace Greeley and others, to whom I had letters of recommendation,
who helped me to books about the West. I made my way through New York,
and across Lake Erie to Cleveland. I had three brothers who were
settled in different parts of Ohio, and a number of old friends. I
visited them. I explored Ohio. I went into Western Virginia, and
examined some lands there that had been advertised for sale in England.
I passed on to Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, and Wisconsin. I spent some
days in Chicago. The city was awfully dull. The people were despondent.
I almost think I could have bought the whole city for fifty thousand
pounds. I had a farm offered me for seven dollars and a half an acre, on
which now a great part of the city I suppose is built. I went to
Milwaukie. There the people seemed more hopeful; though several were
leaving for warmer climes. It was autumn, and I treated myself freely to
the peaches and other rich fruits of the country. About the end of
October I started for England, in one of the Cunard Steamers, crossing
the ocean in nine days, about one-sixth of the time I spent in the
voyage out.
I gave to my readers an account of all I had seen, and heard, and read,
and thousands of them left the land of their birth in search of homes in
the domains of the Great Republic. Some got home-sick, and cursed me.
Some got profitable work, or promising farms, and blessed me. And I
learned two lessons; first, that a man must not look to men for the
reward of his beneficent services, but to God and a good conscience;
and, second, that some will be miserable, and that some will be happy,
go where they may:--that it is not the land they live in, but the
dispositions they cherish, and the life they live, that makes their
heaven or hell.
I had already made up my mind to settle in America myself, and early in
1851 I disposed of my business, and prepared to transport myself and my
family to Central Ohio. I had suffered so long from pain, and weakness,
and depression, and I was so utterly wearied with continual over-work,
and so disgusted too with the government and institutions of the
country, and with some of its inhabitants, that I felt it an infinite
relief to be freed from all further care and concern about business, and
in the first rush of my new wild joy, I took my gun and blew off part of
the top of the chimney of my printing establishment. No child could be
wilder in his delight, when escaping from long confinement in a weary
school, and starting for the longed-for society and pleasures of his
home.
But preparing for a journey of four thousand miles, with wife and
children, was itself work enough for a time. There were a hundred things
to be bought, which you would need in your new and far off home. And
there were a thousand things which you already had, to be packed, and as
many more to be set aside, to be destroyed, or sold, or given away. And
there were a thousand letters and papers to be examined, and a judgment
formed, as to which should be preserved, and which should perish in the
flames. And there were visits to be paid and repaid, and there were
partings, and regrets, and tears. But all was over at length, and we
were on our way to the world beyond the flood.
It was pleasant to get away from one's religious and political
opponents, but painful to part with so many devoted friends, who had
proved their affection for me and for my family by so many sacrifices,
and their steadfastness in times of so much trial. But I had hopes of
keeping up my intercourse with them through the Press, and of
ministering to their gratification and improvement by sending them
accounts of all I saw or learnt of an interesting character in the land
to which I was going. I had also hopes that a quiet home, in a retired
and peaceful part of a new country, might prove conducive to my own
improvement and happiness.
One of the objects I had in view in going to America was to obtain a
little quiet for calm reflection on the course I had so long been
pursuing, and a sober consideration of the position which I had reached.
I was not satisfied that the changes which had taken place in my views
and way of life, since my separation from the Church and the ministry,
had all been changes for the better. I had had suspicions for some time,
that amidst the whirl of perpetual excitement in which I had lived, and
the continual succession of angry contests in which I had been engaged,
I had probably missed my way on some points, and I wished for a
favorable opportunity of ascertaining whether these suspicions were well
grounded or not.
But when I got to America I found myself in a condition less friendly to
calm reflection and to a just and impartial review of my past history,
than the one from which I had fled. The very day we landed in New York
we fell in with the Hutchinson family. I had become acquainted with them
in England, and had spent some time in their company, and had attended
some of their concerts at Leeds. They were to sing that night in New
York, and we attended the performance, and were delighted with their
sweet wild music, and with their wisdom and their wit. They were all
reformers of the radical school, and though their songs and conversation
were not immoral or profane, they were advanced beyond the bounds of
religion, into the neutral ground of Latitudinarianism.
When we got to Akron, Ohio, we found a Woman's Rights Convention in
session; and there we got introduced to a number of advanced spirits,
both male and female, and in their society became acquainted with quite
a multitude of strange and lawless speculations, of which, till then, we
had lived in happy or in woful ignorance. We reached at length the
region where we were to make our home, and now other matters engrossed
my mind. I had, in the first place, a farm to select, and then the
purchase to make. I had then my goods to look after, my house to
arrange, and my food to provide. Then work wanted doing on the farm--a
hundred kinds of work, all new, and many of them hard and very
perplexing. We wanted men to aid us; and men were not to be got; or,
when got, were difficult to manage, and hard to please. And horses, and
cows, and sheep, were wanted; and poultry, and pigs; and ploughs, and
harrows, and wagons, and harness. And stoves and fuel were required. And
the house had to be enlarged, and the barns rebuilt, and the gardens
cultivated, and the orchard replanted. And a hundred lessons on farming
had to be learnt, and a hundred more to be unlearnt. And we were always
making mistakes, and sustaining losses. And our neighbors were not all
that we could wish; and we were not all that they could wish. It was
impossible to avoid impositions, and difficult to take injustice
quietly; so we remonstrated, and resisted, and made things worse.
Before we had got ourselves fairly settled we began to be visited by a
number of friends. And many of those friends were wilder and more
extravagant, in their views on religion and politics, than myself; and
instead of helping me to quiet reflection, did much to render such a
thing impossible. They were mostly Garrisonian Abolitionists, with whom
I had become acquainted while in England, or through the medium of
anti-slavery publications. Many of them had had an experience a good
deal like my own. They had been members and ministers of churches, and
had got into trouble in consequence of their reforming tendencies, and
had at length been cast out, or obliged to withdraw. They had waged a
long and bitter war against the churches and ministers of their land,
and had become skeptics and unbelievers of a somewhat extravagant kind.
Henry C. Wright was an Atheist. So were some others of the party. My own
descent to skepticism was attributable in some measure to my intercourse
with them, and to a perusal of their works, while in England. The first
deadly blow was struck at my belief in the supernatural inspiration of
the Scriptures by Henry C. Wright. It was in conversation with him too
that my belief in the necessity of church organization was undermined,
and that the way was smoothed to that state of utter lawlessness which
so naturally tends to infidelity and all ungodliness. My respect for the
talents of the abolitionists, and the interest I felt in the cause to
which they had devoted their lives, and the sympathy arising from the
similar way in which we had all been treated by the churches and
priesthoods with which we had come in contact, disposed me, first, to
regard their skeptical views with favor, and then to accept them as
true.
And now they welcomed me to their native land, and embraced the earliest
opportunity of visiting me in my new home. And all that passed between
us tended to confirm us in our common unbelief. I afterwards found that
in some of the abolitionists, in nearly all, I fear, anti-christian
views had led to immoral habits, which rendered their antipathy to
Christianity all the more bitter. In almost all of them infidelity had
produced a lawlessness of speculation on moral matters, which could
hardly fail to produce in the end, if it had not already produced, great
licentiousness of life.
I had no sooner got things comfortably fixed at home, than I received
an invitation from the American Anti-slavery Society, to attend their
Annual Meeting, which was to be held in Rochester, New York. I went, and
there I met with S. S. Foster, Abby Kelly Foster, Parker Pillsbury, C.
L. Remond, Henry C. Wright, Wendell Phillips, W. L. Garrison, Lucy
Stone, Lucretia and Lydia Mott, and a number of other leading
Abolitionists. Here too I met with Frederick Douglas, the celebrated
fugitive slave, who had settled in Rochester, and was publishing his
paper there. Some of the Anti-Slavery Leaders I had seen before in
England, and had had the pleasure of having them as my guests, and of
enjoying their conversation. Henry C. Wright, W. L. Garrison, Frederick
Douglas, and C. L. Remond, were old acquaintances. The rest I knew only
by report: but I had read the story of their labors and sufferings in
behalf of the negro slave, and had longed for years to make their
acquaintance. They were, in my estimation, among the best and bravest of
their race. I had read of them a thousand times with the greatest
interest, and a thousand times I had wished for the honor of
co-operating with them in their generous labors. And now I was in their
midst, on American soil. And all seemed glad to make my acquaintance,
and eager to testify their regard for me, and to welcome me to a share
in their benevolent labors. I was soon at home with them all, for they
were a free and hearty people. I attended both their public and their
private meetings. The anniversary lasted several days, and the time was
one continued Festival. There were people from almost every part of the
country, and the house of every Anti-Slavery person in the city was
placed at the service of the visitors. They were as one family, and had
all things in common. The public meetings were largely attended, and the
audiences seemed favorably impressed. In the intervals I visited the
Falls on the Genesee River. More beautiful and enchanting scenes I never
beheld. In all but terrible grandeur they equal, if they do not surpass,
the Falls of Niagara.
And there was an infinite abundance of strange and exciting conversation
in many of the circles, not only on Slavery, but on the Bible and
Religion, on the Church and the Priesthood, and on Woman's Rights, and
the Bloomer Costume, and Marriage Laws, and Free-love, and Education,
and Solomon's Rod, and Non-resistance, and Human Government, and
Communism, and Individualism, and Unitarianism, and Theodore Parkerism,
and Spiritualism, and Vegetarianism, and Teetotalism, and Deism, and
Atheism, and Clairvoyance, and Andrew Jackson Davis, and the American
Congress, and Quakerism, and William Henry Channing, and his journey to
England, and Free-soil, and the Public Lands, and the Common Right to
the Soil, and Rent, and Interest, and Capital, and Labor, and
Fourierism, and Congeniality of Spirit, and Natural Affinities, and
Domestic Difficulties, and--the Good time Coming. All were full of
reform, and most were wild and fanatical. Some regarded marriage as
unnatural, and pleaded for Free-love as the law of life. Some were for
Communism, but differed as to the form which it ought to assume. One
contended that all should be perfectly free,--that each should be a law
unto himself, and should work, and rest, and eat, and drink, as his own
free spirit should prompt him. Another said that the principle had been
tried, and had failed,--that some were anxious to do all the eating, and
sleeping, and loving, and left others to do all the working. Joseph
Treat was there, advocating Atheism, and defending the right of men and
women, married or single, to give free play to native tendencies and
sexual affinities. But Treat was indifferently clad, and not well
washed, and he was evidently no great favorite. * * * Most were in favor
of non-resistance, and full individual freedom. To acknowledge the right
of human government and of human laws, was treason to humanity. Man is a
law to himself. He is his own governor. The Protestant principle of the
right of private judgment and liberty of conscience strikes at the root
of all the governments on earth. Each one's nature is his own sole law.
The one principle of duty is, for every one to do that which is right in
his own eyes. The principle of the Anti-Slavery Society means that, and
neither more nor less. And the Anti-Slavery Society will, after
emancipating the negro, destroy all the governments, remodel all the
laws and institutions, and emancipate all the nations of the earth. Of
course the laws of marriage will fall to the ground. Why not? They
originated only with men,--with men who lived in darker times, and who
were less developed, than we. It would be strange if children could make
laws fit to govern men. And with the laws of marriage will go the laws
of property in land. Land was common property at first, and what right
had any one to make it private? The first man who appropriated land was
a thief. And those who inherited it from him were receivers of stolen
goods. And the title that was vicious at first could never be made valid
by time. The continuance of a wrong can never make it right. Allow that
men have a right to the land in consequence of long possession and
inheritance, and you must allow that men may have a right to their
slaves. The right to land, and the right to slaves, are not so different
as some would suppose. What is man's right to his own body worth, if he
is deprived of his right to the land? Man lives from the land, and
unless he has a right to the land, he can have no right to life. A right
to life implies a right to the land. Men live _on_ the land as well as
_from_ it; and if they have not a right to the land, they can have no
right to live. And man has a right to perfect freedom. Life without
freedom is slavery; and slavery is the extinction of all rights, the
right to life included. And woman has equal rights with man. And
children have equal rights with either. The idea that human beings have
no rights till they are twenty-one, is monstrous. What mighty change is
it that takes place at the moment a person reaches the age of
twenty-one, that he should be a slave a moment before, and a free man a
moment after? No change at all takes place. The rights of a human being
are the gift of Nature, and not the gift of the law. Who authorized men
to make laws for one another? In making men different from each other,
Nature has made it impossible for one man to legislate wisely for
another. The majority have a right to rule themselves, but they have no
fight to rule the minority. All rights are the rights of individuals,
and the rights of individuals composing a minority, are the same as the
rights of individuals composing a majority. A man may elect a
representative; but he cannot be bound by a representative elected by
others. Children should be educated, not by force or authority, but by
attraction. The assumption of authority over a child by a parent is
usurpation; the use of authority over a child is tyranny. The
individuality of a child is its life, and life is sacred. To destroy
individuality is murder. We have no right to take Nature's place, and
make a human being something different from what she has formed him.
Solomon's rod and Paul's authority are alike immoral. All should be
governed by their attractions, like the orbs of heaven, and the
constituents of the earth. The law of Nature is one, both for living men
and dead matter. Our sympathies and affinities are our only rulers. They
are ourselves,--our best selves,--and to allow either law or ruler to
interfere with them, is self-destruction. We are no longer ourselves
when we allow ourselves to be controlled by the will or power of
another. Animals have equal rights with man. The poet was right when he
said,
"Take not away the life thou canst not give,
For all things have an equal right to live."
How _can_ man have a right to take away the life of an animal? The lower
animals occupied the world before man, and man, a later comer, could not
abrogate the prior rights of his predecessors. The use of animal food is
unnatural. It is unhealthy. In feeding on other living creatures man
degrades, corrupts, and then destroys himself. And vegetables, grains,
and fruits should be taken in their natural state. The art of cooking is
an unnatural innovation. The first of our race did not cook. Man is the
only cooking animal, and he is the only sickly one. He is the only one
that loses his teeth, or suffers from indigestion. Teetotalism is
binding on all. Alcohol is an unnatural product. Man is the only being
unnatural enough to drink it. Grapes are good, and so is grain; but
wine, and beer, and spirits, are a trinity of devils, which destroy the
bodies and torment the souls of unnatural men. "There is no God," said
one. "Gods and devils are alike fantastic creatures of the erring mind
of man." "But there _must_ be a God," said another. "All nature cries
aloud there is a God. Our own hearts' instincts--our highest
intuitions,--assure us there is. As well deny the universe, and the
primal intuitions of humanity, as the being of God. A God and a future
life are necessities of human nature. And there is, _without_ us, a
supply for every want _within_ us. As soon will you find a race of
beings with appetites for food, for whom no food is provided, as a race
with longings for God and desires for immortality, while no God and
immortality exist to meet those longings, to satisfy those desires."
"But if there be a God to answer to our longings, and a blessed
immortality to satisfy our desires, why not a devil to answer to our
fears, and a hell to answer to our guilty terrors? And would a God leave
us without a revelation of his will." "The instincts of our nature are
the revelation of God's will. To obey our instincts is to obey the law
of God." "Then is the law of God as various as men's natural tendencies?
Does the murderer, whose tendency is to kill, obey the law of God, as
well as the victim who struggles to escape his doom? And does the eagle
obey the law of God in pouncing on the dove, and the dove in seeking to
evade its talons? Is every tendency the law of God? If it be the will of
God that the powerful tendencies of some should neutralize the feebler
tendencies of others, is not might, right? And if might be right, why
murmur at anything that is? For everything that is, exists by virtue of
its might: and every thing that perishes, perishes in virtue of its
weakness. Are you not sanctioning the doctrine of the Optimist, and
saying with Pope,
"In spite of sense, in erring reason's spite,
One truth is clear--whatever _is_, is RIGHT."
"Whatever is, _is_ right," says another. "It is the result of eternal
wisdom, of almighty power, and infinite love. God is all perfect, and He
is all in all. A perfect God could have nothing short of a perfect
object in all His works, a perfect motive prompting Him, a perfect rule
to guide Him; and, as the author of all existence, a perfect material
out of which to make the creatures of His love. All is perfect. It is
men's own imperfection that makes them think otherwise." "All is
perfect," you say, "yet man is _imperfect_; and his imperfection makes
him think other things imperfect. All is perfect, yet something is
imperfect; and that something is the most perfect or the least imperfect
creature in existence." "Imperfection itself is a part of perfection,"
says the Optimist. "As discords are necessary to the highest musical
compositions; so imperfection is necessary to the highest perfection."
"The most difficult point of all," says a philosophical Unitarian, "is
that of necessity. Every thing must have a cause. Man's actions are the
result of physical causes; yet man is consciously free." "Man is no more
free than the planets," says an Atheist. "He _acts_ freely, as the
planets do,--that is, he acts in harmony with his tendencies,--in
harmony with the causes of his actions,--the causes of his actions cause
them by causing him to will them, by inclining him to do them; and the
causes of planetary action produce that action in the same way: but the
freedom and the necessity are the same in the one case as in the other.
All is free, and all is bound. The chain is infinite, eternal, and
almighty. The difference between man and a planet is, that man is
conscious of his acts, and the planet is not." "Then duty is a dream,"
said a third, "and conscience a delusion; and responsibility a fiction;
and virtue and vice are alike unworthy of either praise or blame, reward
or punishment." "A tree is not responsible," said the Necessitarian,
"yet we cut it down, if it bears no fruit; and we cut off the natural
branches, and insert new scions, if its fruit is not to our liking. A
musquito is irresponsible, yet we kill it when it gives us pain. A horse
is irresponsible, yet we caress it when it gives us pleasure." "So man
is no more than a tree, a musquito, or a horse! And selfishness is the
measure of our duty! We caress or kill as we are pleased or pained." And
so the conversation ran on in one party.
In another the Bible is the subject of conversation. But here all are
agreed on the principal point. No one regards it as of supernatural
origin, or of Divine authority. The question is, whether the
Anti-Slavery Society shall acknowledge that the clergy are right in
saying that the Bible sanctions Slavery. "That it does sanction Slavery
is certain," says one. "Abraham was a slave-holder, a slave-trader, and
a slave-breeder. Isaac inherited his slave property. Jacob had slaves,
and had offspring by two of them. Moses allows the Jews to buy up the
nations round about them, and to hold them as slaves, as a _possession_,
and to transmit them as an inheritance to their children for ever. The
Decalogue recognizes slaves as property. Jesus never condemns
slave-holding, and Paul returns a fugitive, to his master. Take the
clergy at their word. Acknowledge that their sacred book does sanction
Slavery. Acknowledge that it allows a master to flog his slave to death,
on the ground that the slave is his money. Acknowledge too that it
allows the slave-holder to make his female slaves his concubines.
Acknowledge every thing. Take the preachers' side in the matter, and you
will shock the preachers, and you will shock the public, and cause them
to give up the defence of Slavery." "The slave-holders are not governed
by the Bible," says another. "Their appeal to it is only a pretence,--an
_argumentum ad hominem_. They favor Slavery because it is profitable,
and because they like it. Make it unprofitable, and they will soon find
a different interpretation for the Bible." "Show that the Bible is no
authority,--that it is merely a human book,--and you take away their
argument for Slavery," said one. "Their argument is force," said
another, "and you will never abolish Slavery till you take up arms and
crush the tyrants." "But the Bible is the question," says a third. "Call
a Convention to discuss the Bible," said I, and the Convention was
accordingly called.
And thus the conversation ran in private circles, during the intervals
of the public meetings.
I had supposed, that as the people of America had got a Democratic form
of government, no further reforms were necessary, except the Abolition
of Slavery. I now found however that there were more Reformers, and a
greater variety of Reformers, in the circle into which I had fallen,
than in England. There was nothing right,--nothing as it ought to be.
The family, the church, the school, the government, religion, morals,
and even nature were all wrong. The world was full of prejudice. We were
heirs of all the mistakes of our forefathers for a thousand generations.
"Every thing wants destroying," said one, "that every thing may be
created anew." The oracle of the universe cries, "Behold, I make all
things new;" and that oracle we ought to echo; and on that oracle we
ought to act. "'When I was a child, I thought as a child, I spoke as a
child, I understood as a child; but when I became a man, I put away
childish things.' Such was the language of the great Reformer of
antiquity. The human race should adopt the same language, and follow the
great example. The race should say, 'When _I_ was a child, _I_ thought
as a child, _I_ spoke as a child, _I_ understood as a child; but now,
having become a man, _I_ will put away childish things.' I will put away
my childish thoughts on religion, on science, on morals, on government,
on education, on marriage, on slavery, on war, on every thing. The fact
that they are old, is a proof they are wrong. The clothes which fit a
child _cannot_ fit a man. The notions, the institutions, the laws, which
were good for the world's infancy, cannot be good for its manhood." "And
they _shall_ be put away, so far as I am concerned," said a lady. "And
they shall be put away, so far as I am concerned," answered another. "Ye
are born again," says a third. "That noble declaration proves you new
creatures. Old things are passed away; behold, all things _are_ become
new."
A thousand wild sentiments were uttered; a thousand extravagant things
were said; and many unwise things were done. It was plain that a license
of thought was preparing the way, had already prepared the way, for a
license of deed. This license produced a fearful amount of mischief
before long. It had produced no little then. Many a domestic
schism,--many a disgraceful alliance,--many a broken heart,--were the
result of those lawless, wanton speculations.
And some came to see their folly and repented in part. Lucy Stone
declared she would never marry according to law; but she married
according to law in the end, contenting herself with recording a vain
and foolish protest. Harriet K. Hunt would never pay any more taxes till
she was allowed to vote, and was eligible to the Presidency of the
United States. Whether she has paid her tax or not we do not know; but
she has not yet got a vote, and is certainly not yet the President of
the United States. Mrs. C. L. made a declaration, the publication of
which covered her hard-working and excellent husband with shame; but she
too has since seen her error, and endeavored to make all things right.
It was rather amusing, but somewhat startling,--it was very bewildering,
yet very instructive,--to listen to all the projects and theories of a
multitude of thoughtful people, suddenly emancipated from religion and
moral obligation, and from law and custom, and to speculate on what
might be the result of so much extravagance. It put humanity before one
in a new light. It was a new revelation. And all those people were
educated up to the American standard. And they were all in tolerable
circumstances. Some were rich, and most were owners of the lands on
which they lived. Several of them had been ministers of the Gospel. Many
of them were authors. And their appearance and manners were often equal
to those of the best. And some of them could hardly be excelled as
public speakers. Some of the lady speakers were the best I ever heard.
After mingling in such society, and witnessing such a strange breaking
up of "the fountains of the great deep" of thought, and fancy, and
animal passion, it is hard to say what might not take place in the
world, if the spirit of infidel reform which is pervading the nations
should become general.
I returned to my home neither a better nor a wiser man. But I was full
of thought. I had been afraid that in the excitement of controversy, and
under the smart of persecution, I had gone too far. But here were people
who had gone immeasurably farther. I was afraid I had been too rash. But
here were pleasant looking and educated people, compared with whom I was
the perfection of sobriety. And the sense of my comparative moderation
quieted my fears, prevented salutary investigation, and prepared me to
go still farther in the way of doubt. New books were placed in my hands,
all favorable to anti-christian views. I got new friends and
acquaintances, and all were of the doubting, unbelieving class. Several
of them were atheists, and insinuated doubts with regard to the
foundation of all religious belief. Till my settlement in America I had
continued to believe, not only in God, and providence, and prayer, but
in immortality; and to look on Atheism as the extreme of folly. But now
my faith in those doctrines began to be shaken. Instead of drawing back
from the gulf of utter unbelief, and retracing my steps toward Christ as
I had partly hoped, I got farther astray; and though I did not plunge
headlong into Atheism, I came near to the dreadful abyss, and was not a
little bewildered with the horrible mists that floated round its brink.
Thus my hopes of calm and quiet thought, and of a sober reconsideration
of the steps I had taken in the path of doubt and unbelief, were all,
alas! exploded, and the last state of my soul was worse than the first.
To make things worse, I got into trouble with my Christian neighbors. My
alienation from Christ had already produced in me a deterioration of
character. I was not exactly aware of it at the time, and if I had been
told of it, I might not have been able to believe it; but such was
really the case. The matter is clear to me now past doubt. I had become
less courteous, less conciliatory, less agreeable. I had discarded, to
some extent, the Christian doctrines of meekness and humility. My temper
had suffered. I was sooner provoked, and was less forgiving, I was more
prompt in asserting my rights, and more prone perhaps to regard as
rights what were no such things. And I made myself enemies in
consequence, and got into unhappy disputes and painful excitements.
I imagined, I suppose, while in England, that the disturbers of my peace
were all outside me, and that when I went to America I should leave them
all behind; but I see now that many of them were within me, and that I
carried them with me over the sea, to my far-off Western home. And they
gave me as much trouble in my new abode as they had given me in my old
one. It is the state of our minds that determines the measure of our
bliss. As Burns says,
"If happiness have not her seat
And centre in the breast,
We may be wise, or rich, or great,
But never can be blest.
No treasures, nor pleasures.
Can make us happy long;
The _heart_ ay's the part ay
That makes us right or wrong."
And my heart was out of tune, and tended to put everything around me out
of tune.