THE DEBATING SCHOOL.
There were some queer people in every town and community of the new
West, and these were usually active at the winter debating school. These
schools of the people for the discussion of life, politics, literature,
were, on the whole, excellent influences; they developed what was
original in the thought and character of a place, and stimulated reading
and study. If a man was a theorist, he could here find a voice for his
opinions; and if he were a genius, he could here uncage his gifts and
find recognition. Nearly all of the early clergymen, lawyers,
congressmen, and leaders of the people of early Indiana and Illinois
were somehow developed and educated in these so-called debating schools.
Among the odd people sure to be found in such rural assemblies were the
man with visionary schemes for railroads, canals, and internal
improvements, the sanguine inventor, the noisy free-thinker, the
benevolent Tunker, the man who could preach without notes by "direct
inspiration," the man who thought that the world was about to come to an
end, and the patriot who pictured the American eagle as a bird of fate
and divinity. The early pioneer preacher learned to talk in public in
the debating school. The young lawyer here made his first pleas.
The frequent debates in Jones's store led to the formation of a debating
school in Gentryville and Pigeon Creek. In this society young Abraham
Lincoln was the leader, and his cousin Dennis Hanks and his uncle John
were prominent disputants. The story-telling blacksmith furnished much
of the humor, and Josiah Crawford, or "Blue-Nose Crawford," as he was
called, was regarded as the man of hard sense on such occasions as
require a Solomon, or a Daniel, or a Portia, and he was very proud to be
so regarded.
There was a revival of interest in the cause of temperance in the
country at this time, and the noble conduct of Abraham Lincoln, in
carrying to his cousin Dennis's the poor drunkard whom he had found in
the highway on the chilly night after the debate at Jones's store, may
have led to a plan for a great debate on the subject of the pledge,
which was appointed to take place in the log school-house at Pigeon
Creek. The plan was no more than spoken of at the store than it began to
excite general attention.
"We must debate this subject of the temperance pledge," said Thomas
Lincoln, "and get the public sense. New times are at hand. On general
principles, I'm a temperance man; and if nobody drank once, then nobody
would drink twice, and the world would all go dry. But there's the
corn-huskin's, and the hoe-down, and the mowin' times, and the
hog-killin's, and the barn-raisin's. It is only natural that men should
wet their whistles at such times as these. In the old Scriptur' times
people who wanted to get great spiritual power abstained from strong
drink; but you can't expect no such people as those down here at Pigeon
Creek."
"But Abe is a temperancer, and I want the debate to come off in good
shape, so that all you uns can hear what he has to say."
It was decided by the leading debaters that the subject for the debate
should be, "Ought temperance people to sign the temperance pledge?" and
that Abraham Lincoln should sustain the affirmative view of the
question.
The success of young Lincoln as a debater had greatly troubled Aunt
Indiana.
"It's all like the rattlin' of a pea-pod in the blasts o' ortum," she
said. "It don't signify anything. He just rains words upon ye, and makes
ye laugh, and the first thing ye know he's got ye. Beware--beware! his
words are just like stool-pigeons, what brings you down to get shot.
It's amazin' what a curi'us gift of talk that boy has!"
When she heard of the plan of the debate, and the part assigned to young
Lincoln, she said:
"'Twill be a great night for Abe, unless I hinder it. I'm agin the
temperance pledge. Stands to reason that a man's no right to sign away
his liberty. And I'm agin Abe Linkern, because he's too smart for
anythin', and lives up in the air like a kite; and outthinks other
people, because he sits round readin' and turkey-dreamin' when he ought
to be at work. I shall work agin him."
And she did. She first consulted upon the subject with Josiah
Crawford--"the Esquire," as she called him--and he promised to give the
negative of the question all the weight of his ability.
There was a young man in Gentryville named John Short, who thought that
he had had a call to preach, and who often came to Aunt Indiana for
theological instruction.
"Don't run round the fields readin' books, like Abraham Linkern," she
warned him. "He'll never amount to a hill o' beans. The true way to
become a preacher is to go into the desk, and open the Bible, and put
yer fingers on the first passage that you come to, and then open yer
mouth, and the Lord will fill it. I do not believe in edicated
ministers. They trust in chariots and horses. Go right from the plow to
the pulpit, and the heavens will help ye."
John Short thought Aunt Indiana's advice sound, and he resolved to
follow it. He once made an appointment to preach after this unprepared
manner in the school-house. He could not read very well. He had once
read at school, "And he smote the Hittite that he died" "And he smote
the Hi-ti-ti-ty, that he did," and he opened the Bible at random for a
Scripture lesson on this trying occasion. His eye fell upon the hard
chapters in Chronicles beginning "Adam, Sheth, Enoch." He succeeded very
well in the reading until he came to the generations of Japheth and the
sons of Gomer, which were mountains too difficult to pass. He lifted his
eyes and said, "And so it goes on to the end of the chapter, without
regard to particulars."
"That chapter was given me to try me," he said, as a kind of commentary,
"and, my friends, I have been equal to it. And now you shall hear me
preach, and after that we'll take up a contribution for the new
meetin'-house."
The sermon was a short one, and began amid much mental confusion. "A
certain man," he began, "went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell
among thieves; and the thieves sprang up and choked him; and he said,
'Who is my neighbor?' You all know who your neighbors are, O my
friends." Here followed a long pause. He added:
"Always be good to your neighbors. And now we will pass around the
contribution-box, and after that we'll _all_ talk."
This beginning of his work as a speaker did not look promising, but he
had conducted "a meetin'," and that fact made John Short a shining light
in Aunt Indiana's eyes. To this young man the good woman went for a
champion of her ideas in the great debate.
But, notwithstanding her theory, she proceeded to instruct him as to
what he should say on the occasion.
"Say to 'em, John, that he who comes to ye with a temperance pledge
insults yer character. It is like askin' ye to promise not to become a
jackass; and what would ye think of a man who would ask ye to sign a
paper like that? or to sign the Ten Commandments? or to promise that
ye'd never lie any _more_? It's one's duty to maintain one's dignity of
character, and, John, I want ye to open yer mouth in defense of the
rights of liberty on the occasion; and do yer duty, and bring down the
Philistine with a pebble-stun, and 'twill be a glorious night for Pigeon
Creek."
The views of Aunt Olive Eastman on preaching without preparation and on
temperance were common at this time in Indiana and Illinois. By not
understanding a special direction of our Lord to his disciples as to
what they should do in times of persecution, many of the pioneer
exhorters used to speak from the text on which their eyes first rested
on opening the Bible. They seemed to think that this mental field needed
no planting or culture--no training like Paul's in the desert of Arabia,
and that the pulpit stood outside of the universal law. The moral
education of the pledge of Father Matthew was just beginning to excite
attention. Strange as it may seem, the thoughts and plans of the Irish
apostle of temperance and founder of the Order of St. Vincent de Paul
seemed to have come to Abraham Lincoln in his early days much as
original inspiration. His first public speech was on this subject. It
was made in Springfield, Illinois, in 1842, and advocated the plan which
Father Matthew was then originating in Ireland, the education of the
public conscience by the moral force of the temperance pledge.
It was a lengthening autumn evening when the debate took place in the
school-house in the timber. The full moon rose like a disk of gold as
the sun sank in clouds of crimson fire, and the light of the day became
a mellowed splendor during half of the night. The corn-fields in the
clearings rose like armies, bearing food on every hand. Flocks of birds
darkened the sunset air, and little animals of the woods ran to and fro
amid the crisp and fallen leaves. The air was vital with the coolness
that brings the frost and causes the trees to unclasp their countless
shells, barks, and burrs, and let the ripe nuts fall.
The school-room filled with earnest faces early in the evening. The
people came over from Gentryville, among them Mr. Gentry himself and Mr.
Jones the store-keeper. Women brought tallow dips for lights, and
curious candlesticks and snuffers.
Aunt Indiana and Josiah Crawford came together, an imposing-looking
couple, who brought with them the air of special sense and wisdom. Aunt
Indiana wore a bonnet of enormous proportions, which distinguished her
from the other women, who wore hoods. She brought in her hand a brass
candlestick, which the children somehow associated with the ancient
Scripture figures, and which looked as though it might have belonged to
the temples of old. She was tall and stately, and the low room was too
short for her soaring bonnet, but she bent her head, and sat down near
Josiah Crawford, and set the candle in the shining candlestick, and cast
a glance of conscious superiority over the motley company.
The moderator rapped for order and stated the question for debate, and
made some inspiring remarks about "parliamentary" rules. John Short
opened the debate with a plea for independence of character, and
self-respect and personal liberty.
"What would you think," he asked, "of a man who would come to you _in
the night_ and ask you to sign a paper not to lie any more? What? You
would think that he thought you had been lying. Would you sign that
paper? No! You would call out the dogs of retribution, and take down
your father's sword, and you would uplift your foot into the indignant
air, and protect your family name and honor. Who would be called a liar,
in a cowardly way like that? And who would be called a drunkard, by
being asked to sign the paper of a tee-totaler? Who?"
Here John Short paused. He presently said:
"Hoo?"--which sounded in the breathless silence like the inquiries of
an owl. But his ideas had all taken wings again and left him, as on the
occasion when he attempted to preach without notes or preparation.
Aunt Indiana looked distressed. She leaned over toward Josiah Crawford,
and said:
"Say somethin'."
But Josiah hesitated. Then, to the great amusement of all, Aunt Indiana
rose to the ceiling, bent her generously bonneted head, stretched forth
her arm, and said:
"He is quite right--quite right, Josiah. Is he not, Josiah?"
"Quite right," said Josiah.
"People do not talk about what is continuous--what goes right along. Am
I not right, Josiah?"
"Quite right! quite right!"
"If a man tells me he is honest, he is not honest. If he tells me that
he is pure, he isn't pure. If he were honest or pure he says nothing
about it. Am I not right, Josiah?"
"Quite right! quite right!"
"Nobody tells about his stomach unless it is out of order; and no one
puts cotton into keyholes unless he himself is peeking through keyholes.
Am I not right, Josiah?"
"Quite right! quite right!"
"And no one asks ye to sign a temperance pledge unless he's been a
drunkard himself, or thinks ye are one, or likely to be. Ain't I right,
Josiah?"
"Quite right!"
"The best way to support temperance is to live temperately and say
nothin' about it. There, now! If I had held my peace, the stones would
have cried out. Olive Eastman has spoken, and Josiah says that I am
right, and I'm agin the temperance pledge, and there's nothin' more to
be said about it."
Aunt Indiana sat down amid much applause. Then Jasper rose, and showed
that intemperance was a great evil, and that public sentiment should be
educated against it.
"This education should begin in childhood," he said, "in habits of
self-respect and self-restraint. The child should be first instructed to
say "No" to himself."
He proceeded to argue for the temperance pledge from his point of view.
"The world is educated by pledges," he said. "The patriot is kept in his
line of march by the pledge; the business man makes a pledge when he
signs a note; and the Christian takes pledges when he joins the Church.
We should be willing to take any pledge that will make life better. If
eating meat cause my brother to stumble and offend, then I will not eat
meat. I will sacrifice myself always to that which will help the world
and honor God. I am sorry to differ from the good woman who has spoken,
but I am for the use of the pledge. I never drank strong drink, and this
hand shall sign any pledge that will help a poor tempted brother by my
example."
Tall Abraham Lincoln arose.
"There! he's goin' to speak--I knew he'd been preparin'," whispered Aunt
Indiana to Josiah Crawford. "Wonder what he'll have to say. _You'll_
have to answer him. He's just a regular Philistine, and goes stalkin'
through the land, and turns people's heads; and he's just Tom Linkern's
son, who is shiftless and poor, and I'm goin' agin him."
The tall young man stood silent. The people were silent. Aunt Indiana
gave her puncheon seat a push to break the force of that silence, and
whispered to Josiah:
"There! they are all ears. I told ye 'twould be so. You must answer
him."
Young Lincoln spoke slowly, and after this manner:
"My friends: When you pledge yourself to enforce a principle, you
identify yourself with that principle, and give it power."
There was a silence. Then the people filled the little room with
applause. He continued most impressively in the words of grand
oration:[A]
[Footnote A: We use here some of the exact sentences which young Lincoln
employed on a similar occasion at Springfield.]
"The universal sense of mankind on any subject is an argument, or at
least an influence, not easily overcome. The success of the argument in
favor of the existence of an over-ruling Providence mainly depends upon
that sense; and men ought not, in justice, to be denounced for yielding
to it in any case, or giving it up slowly, especially when they are
backed by interest, fixed habits, or burning appetites.
"If it be true that those who have suffered by intemperance personally
and have reformed are the most powerful and efficient instruments to
push the reformation to ultimate success, it does not follow that those
who have not suffered have no part left them to perform. Whether or not
the world would be vastly benefited by a total and final banishment from
it of all intoxicating drinks seems to me not now an open question.
Three fourths of mankind confess the affirmative with their tongues;
and, I believe, all the rest acknowledge it in their hearts.
"But it is said by some, that men will think and act for themselves;
that none will disuse spirits or anything else because his neighbors do;
and that moral influence is not that powerful engine contended for. Let
us examine this. Let me ask the man who could maintain this position
most stiffly, what compensation he will accept to go to church some
Sunday and sit during the sermon with his wife's bonnet upon his head?
Not a trifle, I'll venture. And why not? There would be nothing
irreligious in it, nothing immoral, nothing uncomfortable--then why not?
Is it not because there would be something egregiously unfashionable in
it? Then, it is the influence of fashion. And what is the influence of
fashion but the influence that other people's actions have on our own
actions--the strong inclination each of us feels to do as we see all our
neighbors do? Nor is the influence of fashion confined to any particular
thing or class of things. It is just as strong on one subject as
another. Let us make it as unfashionable to withhold our names from the
temperance pledge as for husbands to wear their wives' bonnets to
church, and instances will be just as rare in the one case as in the
other."
The people saw the moral point clearly. They felt the force of what the
young orator had said. No one was willing to follow him.
"Have you anything to say, Mr. Crawford?" said the moderator.
Josiah merely shook his head.
"He don't care to put on his wife's bonnet agin public opinion," said
the blacksmith.