He
was by almost all accounts, a difficult man to like. Opinionated to the point of bigotry on
innumerable subjects. A totally
humorless religious zealot consumed with the conviction of his own
righteousness—and the sinfulness of just about anyone who did not agree with
him on everything, down to the comma placement.
But such men—and women—often are what are needed to begin moving the
fulcrum of history. When Elijah P. Lovejoy was cut down in a hail
of bullets defending his precious printing
press from an Alton, Illinois mob
on November 7, 1837 he became the first important martyr of abolitionism and helped galvanize the
infant movement.
Lovejoy
was born on November 9, 1802 on the frontier farm of his Congregationalist minister father, the Rev. Daniel Lovejoy and his zealous Christian wife in Albion,
Maine. While most ministers of the New England Standing Order were highly
educated at Harvard or Yale, Elijah’s father was prepared for
service on the fringes of civilization by “reading” with other members. He keenly felt his educational deficiency and
impressed the need for academic achievement on his oldest son and his siblings. Both parents, but particularly his mother,
emphasized it was his duty to fight sin and prepare the world for an imminent Second Coming
After
the customary attendance at rude rural schools and attending more ambitious academies in Monmouth and China, Maine,
Elijah enrolled in the tiny Waterville
College, a Baptist school that
was both all he could afford and which was imbued with righteous
Christianity. He was a serious, sober,
dedicated student who impressed the faculty and alienated his more fun loving
classmates for the same reason. When he
wasn’t studying, he was praying to have the conversion experience that would mark him as one of the saved. Alas, it did not come and the young man
tortured himself with guilt over his unworthiness and fear for his immortal
soul.
By
the end of his second year, he was hired as an instructor in the College’s
preparatory school. He graduated at the
top of his class in 1826. Lacking the
longed for conversion, Lovejoy felt unworthy to continue his planned education
as a minister. He continued to teach,
but yearned to find some other way to serve God. After consultation with
his mentors at the College, he decided the best course would be for him to head
west, presumably a land of sinners requiring the stern admonitions of a
faithful servant of the Lord.
He
went to Boston, to get work to
finance his trip. Finding none, with
virtually no money, but grim determination, Lovejoy set out to reach his new
life on foot.
After
weeks of tramping, Lovejoy arrived in New
York City foot sore and broke. He
decided to rest some and replenish his exhausted purse. He arrived in the City in June of 1827 and
found work of sorts—peddling subscription to the Saturday Evening Gazette. The job required hours of walking block after
block knocking on unfriendly doors and accosting prospects in the streets. Customers were few and commissions slim. In desperation Lovejoy wrote his mentor,
Waterville College President Jeremiah
Chaplin, who sent his favored former pupil enough money to resume his
journey.
Still
traveling mostly by foot, but occasionally parting with a few precious coins
for short passage on canal boats or
river flat boats, Lovejoy finally
arrived at Hillsboro, Montgomery County in
southern Illinois that fall with the
intention of settling. He found a
village barely four years old that made Albion look like a sophisticated
metropolis. It was a brawling, profane
frontier village where life centered around fiercely competing grocery
store/taverns and settled mostly by Scotch
Irish pioneer stock via Kentucky and
other backwoods settlements of the upper South.
He was shocked an appalled. He
saw little opportunity to save the heathens he observed. Better, he concluded to push on to the
acknowledged capital of the hinterlands, St.
Louis.
St.
Louis in 1827-28 was a busy, prosperous place indeed. It was the hub of river commerce on the Mississippi. Flatboats rafted lumber and crops south
and poled their way laboriously north laden with the manufactured and luxury
goods of the world. It was enjoying a
special boom as the outlet of a thriving and growing fur trade that was trapping the rivers and streams of the far-flung
former Louisiana Purchase all the
way to the Rocky Mountains. It was also a slave state thumb pushing far north alongside neighboring free state Illinois. The population of the state was mostly
drawn from the same Scotch Irish pioneer stock that had so offended Lovejoy
with a sprinkling of younger sons of the southern aristocracy seeking to establish their own plantations or enter the
gentlemanly professions of lawyer,
doctor, or editor.
St.
Louis, however, as a successful commercial city, had also attracted fair
numbers of Yankees and New Yorkers, the well educated sons of
the first or second generation of the New
England diaspora. These folks
dominated commerce and trade in the city and were building fine homes. They yearned to establish a civilization that
like beloved Boston could be a “shining city on the hill.” Lovejoy was just the kind of earnest young
man embodying all of the fine moral virtues of New England plus scholarship
that they could use.
Lovejoy
found a spiritual home among local Presbyterians. Like most Congregationalists far from the
orbit of New England he found their shared, strict old school Calvinism familiar and comforting even
if there were minor differences of polity.
Since the Congregationalists resisted, at this point, missionary zeal
for the west and their well educated clergy fell disinclined to test out the
wilderness, the Presbyterians offered really the only viable alternative. The local Baptists he encountered were not
like the serious and sober gentlemen of Waterville College, but served by
ill-educated sometimes self appointed circuit riding shouters who seemed to
appeal mostly to the illiterate and unwashed.
The Methodists were hardly
better, if perhaps more literate.
One
fly in the ointment was the Presbyterianism was also the native religion of the
Scotch Irish, at least those had not given over completely to Godless
heathenism or been converted by saddlebag evangelists. It was the best class of the rowdy lot, and
many of the ladies both virtuous and pious.
But the men, outside of Sunday morning, were often profane and given to
a stubborn affection for whiskey. The
Scots Irish and for the New England exiles somewhat uncomfortably worshiped together.
With
the help of his new co-religionists, Lovejoy quickly established himself as a
school master and was soon able to open his own academy for the sons and
daughters of the city’s Yankee elite. He
approvingly described the families of his pupils as “the most orderly, most
intelligent, and most valuable part of the community.”
Lovejoy
prospered in the respect of his chosen community and was finally fairly
financially secure. But he was still
restless. He was not doing enough to
fulfill his self-appointed mission.
In
1830 a new opportunity arose, however.
He bought a partnership in and became editor of the St. Louis Times. It was a political paper, fiercely anti-Jacksonian, which suited Lovejoy
who was practically a genetic Federalist. Much of Missouri was staunchly behind Old Hickory and his re-made Democratic Party. But in St. Louis another western
politician, Henry Clay of Kentucky was popular. He had been the architect of the Missouri Compromise and his proposed American System with its support for
the National Bank, internal improvements, and a protective tariff resonated with
Lovejoy. He poured passion—and vitriol—into
his role as a political editor.
He
also promoted causes dear to him—teetotalism,
general public morality and order, civic improvement, and education. He used his rising influence to help found
the local Lyceum and to back the Missouri and Illinois Tract Society producing
missionary tracts or moralistic screeds for distribution through the
region. But the issue of slavery did not
yet move him much. It was a major part
of the local economy and practically taken for granted in the culture. If he had any Yankee qualms about it he kept
them largely to himself. In fact his
newspaper advertised slave auctions and wanted notices for escaped slaves.
Then,
in 1832 came the thunderclap that changed his life. The Rev.
David Nelson came to town to preach a revival
over several weeks at the First
Presbyterian Church. Lovejoy
dutifully attended the daily meetings.
He found himself soon under the sway of Nelson’s powerful
preaching. Before the revival was over,
he finally had the personal conversion experience he had long prayed for. He also was attracted a second message
preached by Nelson—the moral necessity of ending slavery.
Lovejoy
decided the time was finally right for him to become a minister. He headed east and enrolled in the Princeton Theological Seminary. Completing his studies in a year, he was
granted his license to preach by the
Philadelphia Presbytery on April 18,
1833.
He
returned to St. Louis a rejuvenated man.
He established his own Presbyterian congregation for his Northern
supporters. His supporters underwrote a
new newspaper, the St. Louis Observer which was dedicated less to sectarian
politics and more to reform and moral uplift.
It was Lovejoy’s unrestrained voice, unleashed with passion.
In
the very first issue he excoriated Catholicism
and Papism in vitriolic
language. The language was familiar to
any Calvinist ear from the east. But St.
Louis, a former French and Spanish provincial capital, had a large
Catholic population and there had been a general toleration of religious
differences as the city had grown. Not
only were his targets outraged, but so were some other Protestants. In his first issue Lovejoy established a
reputation as an extremist and a bigot.
Undeterred
by the storm of criticism, he pressed on with attacks on Catholics as well
screeds against alcohol, Sabbath breaking,
and profanity. And finally, slavery.
His
editorials were unflinching in his denunciation of the moral evil of human
bondage. But at first he was also
critical of the kind of abolitionist absolutism preached in William Lloyd Garrison’s The Liberator. He denounced imposing abolition instead
hoping that argument and religious conversion would change the hearts of slave
holders who would see the error of their ways and free their slaves. Despite the seeming moderation of this
stance, it still outraged the Southern dominated city. By the summer of 1835 citizen’s committee passed a resolution aimed at Lovejoy declaring
anti-slavery agitation inspired “insurrection and anarchy, and ultimately, a
disseverment of our prosperous Union.”
As
controversy swirled around him, Lovejoy finally married a fine Christian woman,
Celia Ann French, the same year.
Married
bliss did not mellow Lovejoy. As public
clamor against is anti-slavery stand grew, so did his defiance. In fact the reaction drove him ever more
closely into the arms of the abolitionist “extremists” he had once derided. Several times Lovejoy was accosted on the
streets and barely escaped assault. His
office and shop were vandalized. In
response he printed a string of editorials vigorously defending the rights of freedom of the press and to express
unpopular opinion.
Things
came to a head in April 1836 when a Black riverboat hand, Francis McIntosh allegedly killed a deputy sheriff and injured other men in the posse sent to arrest him. An
outraged mob was not content to wait for a trial. They broke into the courthouse jail and lynched McIntosh. Despite overwhelming evidence that McIntosh
was guilty, Lovejoy denounced the mob action writing “We must stand by the
Constitution and laws, or all is gone.”
After that editorial angry mob twice entered the offices of the Observer and seriously damaged the
printing press.
When
the Grand Jury failed to indict any
of the known leaders of the lynch mob, Lovejoy railed against the injustice and
the actions of the aptly named the
presiding judge, Luke E. Lawless who
virtually laid out a legally questionable defense of the accused men. Another mob gathered and attacked the office,
this time throwing the press out the window and into the streets.
Lovejoy
finally concluded it was unsafe to continue in St. Louis. He decided to relocate to Alton, Illinois,
upriver and 15 miles north of St. Louis.
He hoped that the free state would be more welcoming. Vigilantes however followed Lovejoy’s move
and when his precious press was unloaded to the quay in Alton, they threw it in
the river.
Despite
this set back, Lovejoy at first received a cautiously warm reception in his new
town. It was a growing city and its
boosters envisioned it as a possible rival to St. Louis itself. Despite a local population that was largely
Southern in origin, some felt that the establishment of a new paper—and likely
the founding of a new Presbyterian Church would enhance the city’s reputation
in its bid as a long shot contender for the location of the new state capital
from Vandalia.
As
Lovejoy raised money for a new press, he met with a local citizens committee
which offered him a conditional welcome—if he would refrain from the kind of
“agitation” that had caused trouble in St. Louis. Lovejoy assured them that he now planned a
purely civic and Christian paper.
Shortly
after New Year’s 1837 the new Alton
Observer began publication. And
despite his promises the very first issue contained a blistering attack on
slavery and slavery apologists. By
spring he was calling on the citizens of the town to sign an abolitionist
petition to the state legislature. Then
he urged citizens to “walk the streets of the town” pressing and anti-slavery
message. In August he called for a
founding convention of an Illinois
Anti-Slavery Society for the town.
After printing a broadside for the meeting, a mob once again stormed his
shop and threw another press into the river.
Lovejoy,
now attracting national support, ordered another. But when that one was delivered, it was
discovered on the dock and also deep sixed.
The
proposed Anti-Slavery convention tried to convene in Alton in October, but
anti-slavery men packed the meeting and prevented resolutions from being passed
and business conducted. Lovejoy and his
supporters then convened again in secrecy at another location. In addition to founding the society, money
was raised to buy yet another press and to defend it with force, if necessary.
Lovejoy
tried one more time to reach accommodation with his enemies in Alton. He arranged a meeting with them at which he
made an impassioned plea for freedom of the press which has become regarded as
a classic. On November 2 he said this to
the assembly:
It is not true, as has been charged upon me, that I
hold in contempt the feelings and sentiments of this community, in reference to
the question which is now agitating it. I respect and appreciate the feelings
and opinions of my fellow-citizens, and it is one of the most painful and
unpleasant duties of my life, that I am called upon to act in opposition to
them. If you suppose, sir, that I have published sentiments contrary to those
generally held in this community, because I delighted in differing from them,
or in occasioning a disturbance, you have entirely misapprehended me. But, sir,
while I value the good opinion of my fellow-citizens, as highly as any one, I
may be permitted to say, that I am governed by higher considerations than
either the favor or the fear of man. I am impelled to the course I have taken,
because I fear God. As I shall answer it to my God in the great day, I dare not
abandon my sentiments, or cease in all proper ways to propagate them.
I, Mr. Chairman, have not desired, or asked any
compromise. I have asked for nothing but to be protected in my rights as a
citizen--rights which God has given me, and which are guaranteed to me by the
constitution of my country. Have I, sir, been guilty of any infraction of the
laws? Whose good name have I injured? When, and where, have I published anything
injurious to the reputation of Alton?
Have I not, on the other hand, labored, in common with
the rest of my fellow-citizens, to promote the reputation and interests of this
City? What, sir, I ask, has been my offence? Put your finger upon it—define it—and
I stand ready to answer for it. If I have committed any crime, you can easily
convict me. You have public sentiment in your favor. You have juries, and you
have your attorney, and I have no doubt you can convict me. But if I have been
guilty of no violation of law, why am I hunted up and down continually like a
partridge upon the mountains? Why am I threatened with the tar-barrel? Why am I
waylaid every day, and from night to night, and my life in jeopardy every hour?
You have, sir, made up, as the lawyers say, a false
issue; there are not two parties between whom there can be a compromise. I
plant myself, sir, down on my unquestionable rights, and the question to be
decided is, whether I shall be protected in the exercise and enjoyment of those
rights…
I have no personal fears. Not that I feel able to
contest the matter with the whole community; I know perfectly well I am not. I
know, sir, you can tar and feather me, hang me up, or put me into the
Mississippi, without the least difficulty. But what then? Where shall I go? I
have been made to feel that if I am not safe at Alton, I shall not be safe
anywhere. I recently visited St. Charles to bring home my family, and was torn from
their frantic embrace by a mob. I have been beset night and day at Alton. And
now, if I leave here and go elsewhere, violence may overtake me in my retreat,
and I have no more claim upon the protection of any other community than I have
upon this; and I have concluded, after consultation with my friends, and
earnestly seeking counsel of God, to remain at Alton, and here to insist on
protection in the exercise of my rights. If the civil authorities refuse to
protect me, I must look to God; and if I die, I have determined to make my
grave in Alton.
The last sentence proved all too accurate a
prediction. The meeting broke up with a
resolution once again denouncing Lovejoy and demanding that he and his
newspaper immediately leave the city.
Within days a new press arrived and under cover
of darkness and armed guard it was moved by stealth into the relative safety of
a sturdy stone warehouse near the river.
Lovejoy and a small volunteer militia of armed abolitionists stood
guard. It did not take long for the
local citizenry to discover what had happened.
After reinforcing their courage at local taverns,
a mob marched on the warehouse after 10 pm November 7. A spokesman demanded the press be turned
over to the mob. After a curt refusal
windows of the warehouse were shattered with rocks and then the mob rushed the
door. There seems to be no doubt that
Lovejoy or his followers fired the first shot.
A general gunfight broke out. At
least one member of the mob was killed and others injured.
After briefly retreating to consider the
situation, it was decided to try and smoke Lovejoy out by setting fire to the
roof of the three story warehouse. There
was a lull until a long ladder could be found.
Then under heavy cover fire the ladder was rushed forward and a man with
a torch started to climb it. Lovejoy and
a supporter darted out from the building and knocked the ladder over the safely
returned.
A second attempt was made. Lovejoy again sallied forth, this time he was
cut down by at least 5 shotgun slugs in the chest. He managed to cry, “My God, I’m hit” before
staggering back inside. He died almost immediately.
Meanwhile the mob succeeded in torching the roof.
Lovejoy's grief stricken companions
managed barely to escape out a back door and flea along the river bank. The mob broke the door down and found Lovejoy
dead. Then they went about their
methodical work. They carried the press and cases of type to
the top floor of the building then threw it out the window. The mob, armed with hammers and stones
continued to smash parts tossing them into the river. They then left, leaving Lovejoy’s body, spit
upon and abused, behind.
Two days later with little ceremony and in secret
he was buried in a field near his home.
Evidence of the grave was erased and it was left unmarked lest it be
disturbed. It remained so until 1860
when supporters finally erected a headstone.
Lovejoy’s wife, already in ill health, could not attend the burial.
William Lloyd Garrison and The Liberator spread the word of the murder. Abolitionist speakers fanned out across the
North claiming Lovejoy as their first martyr.
Elijah’s younger brother Owen, a Congregational minister, came to Illinois to finish his
brother’s work and became the longtime leader of state Abolitionists. From 1857 until his death in 1865 he served
as a Republican Congressman from the
state where his brother died.
Today if you visit Alton you can see the grave, his
relocated home, and a handsome monument—a 110 foot column surmounted by an
Angel. As anyone in town and they will
be glad to tell you the story. And
despite the fact that many local families have been there since Lovejoy’s
death, you won’t find any who will acknowledge that their ancestors were part
of the mob.
