CT
A 808,522
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1129
EUGENE V. DEBS
PASTELS OF MEN
Including an Appreciation of Debs
by
FRANK HARRIS
New York 1919
PEARSON'S (25c) LIBRARY


GENERAL LIBRARY

1817
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EUGENE V. DEBS
PASTELS OF MEN
Including an Appreciation of Debs
by
FRANK HARRIS
New York 1919
PEARSON'S (25c) LIBRARY
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Copyright, 1919
Pearson's Magazine, Inc.
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INTRODUCTION
W
Eugene V. Debs:
The Beloved Disciple
HEN I came to New York in November 1914,
Eugene Debs was only a name to me. I knew
he had been more than once the Candidate of
the Socialist Party for President, and had re-
ceived more than a million votes.
As soon as I became Editor of Pearson's I asked Debs
to write for me about the choice and master spirits he
had known; in the next year or so he wrote those half
dozen biographies which I am now reproducing.
His writings reveal the man: he deals in nothing but
praise and yet his praise say of Ingersoll is subtly dif-
ferentiated from his praise of Wendell Phillips and his
admiration of the Hoosier Poet has different roots from
his admiration of Eugene Field.
His style is very simple and hall-marked with sincerity:
all the while he is saying just what he means and feels,
no more, no less, and yet he is always enthusiastic.
Still he never falls as the French say, into marmalade:
he has the sweetness but with all the dignity of a great
personality.
I wanted to meet him and wrote telling him my desire.
The next time he came to New York he came to see me
d we lunched together. He made a far greater im-
ession on me than even his writings. Every one knows
tall lean figure and face that with the addition of a
goatee would do for the typical Uncle Sam; but Uncle
Sam's countenance has not the charm of unaffected
indliness that radiates from Debs'.
We were some hours together: when we parted I
umed up my impression of him by calling him "The
Beloved Disciple", the most Christlike man I have ever
ad the honor of knowing.
And so this democratic administration arraigns him
under its own law in direct contradiction of the Con-
stitution and of right and justice and a judge desiring
the rewards of infamy sentenced Eugene Debs to ten

INTRODUCTION
years inprisonment and he is now locked up in a cel
this "land of the free".
As Bernard Shaw wrote to me the other day his se
tence is a disgrace to America and a disgrace to repul
lican institutions. We are all ashamed by his punishment
disgraced, all of us, save the justices and Presiden
Woodrow Wilson who is chiefly and forever responsibl
for punishing one of the noblest of men.
I like to recall Debs's praise of Ingersoll: its even tru
of Eugene Debs:-
"He freely laid his all upon the altar that those
who came after him might escape the curse of
slavery and the horror of superstition, and know the
joy of being free. He was absolutely true to the
highest principles of his exalted character and to the
loftiest aspirations of his own unfettered soul. He
bore the cruelest misrepresentation, the foulest
abuse, (the vilest calumny, jand the most heartless
persecution without resentment or complaint. He
measured up to his true stature in every hour.of
trial, he served with fidelity and without compromise
to the last hour of his noble life, he paid in full the
price of his unswerving integrity to his own soul
and each passing century to come will add fresh
luster to his immortal fame."
Frank Harris.

RILEY THE HOOSIER POET and InterPRETER 7
T
Riley The Hoosier Poet and
Interpreter
"Nature is fine in love, and where 't is fine
It sends some precious instance of itself
After the thing it loves"
-Shakespeare.
O ears attuned the morning stars in hoosier skies.
must have sung together on the day James Whit-
comb Riley was born. Nature, in love, certainly
crooned above his cradle and dowered him with
her most precious gifts as he opened his baby-eyes upon
the world.
The house in Greenfield in which the poet was born-
"A simple old frame house eight rooms in all-
Set just one side the center of a small
But very hopeful Indiana town"-
is still standing, and pointed out with peculiar pride by
old friends and neighbors to the many devotees who visit
there to pay homage to the birth-place of Indiana's most
famous and beloved singer of her folk-lore and inter-
preter of her common life. It was here that he spent
his carefree boyhood days, played truant at school. and
followed his fancy out into the fields and woods, whither
he was lured by the myriad voices of nature that haunted
his poetic imagination.
Riley's father, a country lawyer and a sturdy specimen
of the hoosier type of that day, had named the future
poet James Whitcomb, in honor of one of Indiana's
pioneer governors, and intended that he should become,
like himself, an ornament to the legal profession. But
the lad demurred. He simply could not swallow the dry
stuff of which law-books are made, and whatever else
fate or fortune might have in store for him, it soon be-
came evident that there was not the making of a lawyer
in that restless, romantic, nature-loving youth.



8
EUGENE V. DEÉS
M
It was along the winding creek-bank, sun-tanned and
bare-footed, or rioting with chums in the "Old Swimmin'
Hole," or chasing butterflies across richly-scented clōver-
fields, or wandering whither his roaming fancy might
lead among the paw-paw bushes, the hazelthickets, the
persimmon trees, or the towering hickories and walnuts
in the pathless woods-it was in these artless quests and
amidst such rustic scenes that young Riley drank deep
draughts from the fountain of boyish enthusiasm and had
his poetic fancy aroused by the inspiration he drew from
the very heart of nature.
Riley was still a lad at school when he first gave
evidence of his poetic genius, but it was not greatly appre-
ciated. The schoolroom had a little attraction for him
as had the law office at a later period. The lessons were
tedious and the hours dragged slowly by as he heard
through the open window the murmuring voices of the
great out-doors, reminding him of play-time and setting
his heart ajingle with the prospect of release from the
bondage of the schoolroom and of escape from the sharp
eye of its stern and vigilant master.
Ah, how many of the little folk there are, even today,
who are tied down to dismal studies which do not interest
them, while their natural aptitudes and tendencies are
either disregarded or repressed, and their "education"
finally fits them for success in the multitudinous ranks.
of the world's wretched failures. It is this sort of educa-
tion, so-called, that, as Ingersoll aptly characterized it,
"polishes pebbles and dims diamonds," and if young
Riley had submitted to the regulation and discipline of
the country schoolroom, his mentality would have been
dwarfed, his personality effaced, and the fire of his genius.
utterly extinguished. He might have written gram-
matical commonplaces and composed polished rhymes but
he would never have produced the vivid verses, the in-
spiring sonnet, sweet and homely as "Old Fashioned.
Roses" and tender and pathetic as the love of "Old
Aunt Mary."
The hoosier lad who was to immortalize the homely
dialect of his people yearned for freedom from the days
of his childhood-freedom to roam the fields and wade
the creeks, to lie in the shade of an old sycamore and


RILEY THE HOOSIER POET AND INTERPRETER
9
en with rapture to the feathered choristers in its over-
nging boughs. Like the vagrant butterfly, he loved
flit, in perfect abandon, from field to field, from flower
flower extracting the native sweets his riper genius
as to distill into the dripping honey of his melting
elodies.
He loved nature in all her changing, charming moods.
nd abandoned himself joyously to all her enticing over-
res:
"Under some old apple tree,
Jes' a-restin through and through,
I could get along without
Nothin' else at all to do.
*
*
Lay out here and try to see
Jes' how lazy you kin be:-
Tumble round and souse your head
In the clover-bloom, er pull
Yer straw hat acrost your eyes,
And peek through it at the skies."
And this is how James Whitcomb Riley received the
cation that made him the poet of the children and the
erpreter of the simple life of the common people. He
dsprung from their loins and he incarnated their life.
He breathed their spirit and shared their joys and sor-
rows, their hopes and yearnings. He glorified them in
song and story, gave their language, rude and unculti-
vated, to poetry and literature, and they loved him with
all their honest hearts.
Always do I remember Riley as I first saw him in the
flush of his young manhood. He was midway in his
twenties, yet seemed a boy to me, and remained so to
the end of his days. Happily, he could not outgrow his
yhood. The magic of his own entrancing fairy-world
childhood held him willing captive and kept his spirit.
Sweet and his heart young.
He carried about with him the jaunty air of a youth
in love, he overflowed with dilicious humor, and he heard
music and saw poetry in all things about him. He sang
U
·་

IO
EUGENE V. DEBS
of the honey-bee and the butterfly, the tree-toad and t
cricket, the hollyhock and the clover-blossom, and the
were all precious in his sight and all essential to hi
world.
'Cause I'm happier in these posies,
And the hollyhawks and sich,
Than the hummin' bird 'at noses
In the roses of the rich."
The rapturous tribute of Robert Ingersoll to Rober
Burns applies with peculiar fitness to the hoosier poe
"Here was a man who plucked joy from the mire, mad
godesses of peasant girls, and enthroned the honest ma
a man who loved this world, this life, the thing
of every day, and placed above all else the thrilling ex
stasies of human love.
A little valley, not ver
wide, but full of sunshine; a little stream runs dow
making music over the rocks, and children play upo
the banks; narrow roads overrun with vines, cover
with blossoms, happy children, the hum of bees, and lit
birds pour out their hearts and enrich the air. That
Burns."
Some years ago Riley visited St. Louis as the gue
of the Indian Society. The St. Louis Globe Democr
incidental to the visit, published some "Riley Stori
told by friends of the poet which will bear repeating
this time:
"We hoosiers ought to be everlastingly grateful
'Lije' Halford," began one, "for bringing Riley ino
prominence, by dismissing him from his job as writer
for the Indianapolis Journal. Riley was getting a few
dollars a week from the Journal for original poems when
'Lije' Halford, afterward private secretary to President
Harrison, came to the paper as managing editor. Halford
at once decided that expenses should be cut down, an
picked upon Riley as the first victim. He told Riley tha
the poetic department would be continued if Riley wanted
to furnish the poems without expense to the office. The
blow was a hard one on Riley, and he was ready for i
time to give up in despair. While things were looking
decidedly blue for him a convention was held in Indian


RILEY THE HOOSIER POET AND INTERPRETER II
polis. One of the men nominated was a big fellow who
had never made a speech in his life. He was called be-
ore the convention, and, shifting from one foot to the
ther in perfect agony for a moment, he blurted out:
Gentlemen, I thank you for this nomination. I can't
hake a speech, but I can tell you one thing: The ticket
ou've nominated here today is goin' to win "when the
rost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.' I
eard that speech," continued the narrator, "and it took
he house by storm. It was evident that the little poem
Riley, which had been published but a few days before,
ad been read by the delegates to that convention and
y the spectators, who joined in the applause which
reeted the apt quotation from the poem. That circum-
tance brought the business manager of the Journal to
Riliey's rescue, and his first book, "The Old Swimmin'
Hole and 'Leven More Poems," was published and made.
great hit. . . If Halford hadn't fired him he might
ever have discovered himself."
Another member of the party told the following:
"Riley used to have a fondness for dogs, and always,
his younger days, had one at his heels. One day in
dianapolis he came across a magnificent coach dog,
nd induced it to follow him away from the place it had
een left by its owner. Riley took the dog down to the
Journal office and tied it to the leg of his table, where
he was doing some work. Along in the afternoon the
owner of the dog came in with an advertisement in which
He offered a reward for the return of his prize coach dog.
Riley's explanation did not go and only the intervention
of other members of the staff saved the poet from a
ouncing at the hands of the irate owner of the dog.
he story got out and Riley was joked a good deal about
He usually turned the matter to account by using the
ory to prove that it paid to advertise.”
"Riley told me once how he happened to adopt his
omely style in writing poetry," said another member of
tc party. "He had been credited with having discovered
a new field, but told me that the idea came to him like
flash. He had been abroad and was on his way to


12
EUGENE V. DEBS
Indianapolis. He looked up at the sky and decided that
it was just as blue as it was in Italy. The purling brooks
purled just the same in Indiana as they did in Switzer-
land. The trees were just as green on the Wabash as
they were in France, and the birds sang just as sweetly
in America as they did any place in the world. It came
to the poet that it wasn't necessary to get out of the sight
of the plain people to find the poetry of life. The pop-
ularity of everything he has written along homely lines
is proof sufficent that he was right about it."
Back in the seventies when Riley first began to enter
tain the home-folk with his quaint studies of hoosier life
it was in the country towns adjacent to Indianapolis
whither he had gone to make his home after leaving hi
native Greenfield. The audiences were small as a rule
but not lacking in appreciation of the entertainer's serious
and comic readings from his writings and his clever im-
personation of his homespun characters. The people,
were beginning to read his dialect verses, the children
were especially becoming interested in his poems and
sketches of child life, and his fame, until now of a local
character, began to spread over the state. It was at this
time that he was given the sobriquet of "Hoosier Poet"
by his admirers, the endearing title that clung to him t
the end of his life.
The publication of "The Old Swimmin' Hole and
'Leven More Poems," the charming dialect series contrib-
uted originally to the Indianapolis Journal over the nont
de plume of “Benjamin F. Johnson" of Boone (country),
and the first of his writing to attract attention, in a
modest, paper-covered little volume, was quite an event
in the rising young author's life. These homely studies
in hoosier life, both grave and gay, went straight to the
hearts of the people. Old and young were equally astone
ished and delighted to find themselves, their inmos
thoughts and moods, and their simple, honest ways s
faithfully interpreted and so charmingly impersonated b
a native singer of their own hoosier soil.
The poem in this series which struck the most re
sponsive chord and won instantaneous popular favor fo
the author was "When the Frost is on the Punkin and
the Fodder's in the Shock." The hoosier farmer and hi

LEY THE HOOSIER POET
TER 13
family were elated beyond expression. It was their psalm
of life. They were electrified by its vivacious spirit and
hung enraptured upon its rhythmic, stirring appeal. It
was in their own backwoods language, and to their simple
taste it was the sweetest melody that ever charmed mor-
tal ear.
The boys declaimed the rollicking new poem at school
and thousands repeated its jocund. jingling lines every-
where. To this day its popularity has scarcely waned.
It is still widely quoted and holds its timehonored place
in the program of many a popular entertainment. But
Riley himself was the only person who could do justice
to this typical hoosier dialect poem on the stage. His
impersonation of the old farmer was perfect. Riley him-
self completely vanished and reappeared in the rôle of
the homespun tiller of the soil. As a mimic he was
comparable-the perfect master of the art. His dra-
atic power was marvelous-his humor irresistible, and
is pathos melting to the last degree. Sol Smith Russell
ce declared that as a dramatic impersonator Riley stood
one and I think that all who ever saw and heard him in
Nothin' to Say, My Daughter" or "Out to Old Aunt
Mary's" will agree with Russell.
It was Riley's impersonation of the old farmer and his
reading of "The Frost is on the Punkin" that captured
by storm the great audience gathered at the Academy
of Music in New York as the guests of the American
Authors and Writers on one of their annual celebrations
some twenty-five years ago. The most distinguished
uthors and men of letter were in attendance. They had
never seen Riley. Most of them had not even heard of
him. His appearance was a surprise to that cultured
gathering, that high-brow assemblage; his performance
a revelation. The audience went wild and actually broke
into boisterous cheers Riley was something new and
vital and oh, how natural and refreshing! He was from
the wild and woolly west, homely, unspoiled, a type of
genius native to his common soil--and he won the honors
of the day in the great metropolis where were gathered
the shining lights of the literary world.
The fame of Riley now flashed over all the land. Mrs.
Grover Cleveland, whose husband was then President,
•

-14
JGENE V. DEBS
was in the New York audience and like the rest was
carried away by the fascinating hoosier poet. Soon after
he was a guest at the White House and from that time
to the day of his death he was in demand in every par
of the country, and packed the largest opera-houses an
entertainment halls to their utmost capacity.
The sweet and homely dialect lines in the golden mout
of the hoosier lad had wrought the magic. I can see an
hear him still in the rôle of the hale, hearty, bluff ol
farmer. Never was there another like him. With rap
attention the great audience follows every facial whin
laughs at every gesture, and hangs breathless upon ever
tender, pathetic word that falls from his eloquent lips
How vivid it remains in my memory after all these years
"When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's i
the shock
And you hear the kycuck and gobble of the strutt
turk'y cock,
And the clackin' of the guineas and the cluckin' of
hens,
And the rooster's halleylooyer as he tiptoes on th
fence,
O its then the time a feller's a feelin' at his best,
With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of graciou
rest,
As he leaves the house bareheaded and goes out to feed
the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in th
shock."
All these early poems, fresh from the heart of th
buoyant young author, have their themes in the commo
life that inspired them—the life of honest toil, of home
spun simplicity, neighborly kindness, and sweet content
The country fiddler comes in for his full share of re
cognition and we hear him pour out his soul in rhapsody
to his darling old fiddle:
"That's how this here old fiddle's won my heart's endurin
love!
From the strings acrost her middle to the screechin' key
above-

AND INTERPRETER
TEKPRETER 15
From her 'apern, over bridge, to the ribbon round her
throat,
She's a wooin', cooin' pigeon singin' 'Love me' every
note;
And so I pat her neck and plink
Her strings with loving hands,
And list'nin' clos't, I sometimes think
She sort o' understands!"
Riley could not only write in tender appreciation of the
fiddle" but he could touch its strings and caress it into
softest strains; he could pick a banjo and make it sing
or sob, according to his moods. He had special talent
for sketching and drawing and would without doubt have
become a great cartoonist. The art of lettering was natu-
ral to him and quite early he excelled at painting novel
and attractive signs. His hands were skilled at decorat-
ing and in many ways he showed himself possessed of
creative talent and of a rare artistic temperament.
No one I have ever known worked more painstakingly
or conscientiously at his task than Riley. His letters are
all written as if they had been intended for the printer.
Never a careless line or a slipshod expression. Every
paragraph precisely prepared, every word carefully cho-
en, and every line neatly penned. He was indeed a
model letter-writer. Every letter in his hand is a perfect.
specimen of the art. In writing his poems and sketches
was, if possible, even more particular. He spent hours
ver a single couplet. As Hilliard said of Edward Everett :
He is as careful to select the right word as a workman
In mosaic is to pick out the exact shade of color which
he requires."
Much of what Riley wrote came to him spontaneously,
but in the preparation of his literary work he was a most
conscientious craftsman. He never relaxed in industry
or patience until every word was just right and that
meant perfection so far as he could make it so.
I remember once asking Riley if his work came easy
nd his witty answer: "Easy! I should say not. It's like
grinding sausage-meat with bones in it." On another
occasion I asked him if he had worked very hard at a
certain task he had performed and if he felt tired when

+
16.
he had finished it. The answer made me laugh and
have laughed about it many times since: "I felt when
got through with that job as if I had given birth to
roughshod colt."
Riley sympathized deeply, tenderly with the poor ar
lowly. He did not attempt, as did Shelley and Burns,
incite them to revolt against their exploiters and de
spoilers, for it did not occur to him that poverty, in th
present age of mavelous machinery and rapid produc
tion, was an unnecessary evil, the tolerance of which wa
scarcely less than a social crime. Nevertheless, he h
the profoundest respect for and sympathy with honest to
and in many of his poems he paid sincere tribute to th
working class. He loved the poor but he did not env
the rich. He knew the effect of great wealth upon i
possessor, and here is the greatest line he ever wrote:
"There's nothing 'at's patheticker than jest a bei
rich."
Riley had known poverty; he had had his part in the
fierce and ofttimes tragic struggle for existence, and h
had not forgotten it. His heart was with the poor. Late
he became well-to-do, rich, indeed, from the large an
rapidly increasing royalty on his books, but there w
nothing in wealth and power that appealed to his simpl
unostentatious nature.
"I pray not that
Men tremble at
My power of place
And lordly sway,-
I only pray for simple grace
To look my neighbor in the face
Full honestly from day to day—
Yield me his horny palni to hold,
And I'll not pray
For gold;-
The tanned face, garlanded with mirth,
It hath the kingliest smile on earth-
The swart brow, diamonded with sweat,
Hath never need of coronet,"
1


The hoosier poet was born among the common people,
the "lowly," as they are sometimes called, and this was
his supreme fortune. Had he been the pampered, off-
spring of the "upper class" the world would never heard
of him. It was because he was of the common folk, of
their own simple habit and sympathetic nature, that he
knew them so well and loved them with such intense
fidelity and devotion. He knew them as he knew his
own heart, out of the fullness of which he sang their
praises and glorified their virtues in his tender, loving,
inimitable poems and sketches. To them he looked for
sympathy and encouragement and from them he drew
his virility and inspiration. And their honest love and
hearty pride in his brilliant achievement and his growing
fame made him rich, indeed, rich in the moral wealth and
spiritual treasure that come as the reward of self-for-
getting consecration and social service, and could not be
purchased with all the guilty, blood-stained gold that ever
cursed the world.
The money that came to Riley in later years added
nothing to his inspiration, nothing to his fame, and noth-
ing to his happiness. The rich were eager to patronize
him and vied with each other to do him honor after he
had triumphed in his struggle and was loved and honored
by the world. He had occasion to see and study the
"upper class' at short range and it was then that he con-
cluded that-
"There's nothing 'at's patheticker than jest a bein
rich."
Rich in purse and poor in spirit; rich in purple and fine
linen and poor in intellect; rich in all that money will buy
and poverty-stricken at heart and soul, this is poverty,
indeed!
There is no poverty that so blights and blasts, so
withers and destroys as the poverty of the spirit and soul;
and it was this spirtual pauperism in luxuriant raiment
and ablaze with diamonds and precious stones that Riley
had in mind when he said: "There's nothing 'at's pathe-
ticker than jest a bein' rich."
After the fame of the hoosier poet had spread beyond
the boundaries of his native state he responded to in-



vitations to entertain audiences in all parts of the coun-
try. He was associated during this period with Eugene
Field, Bill Nye, Charles Eugene Banks and other literary
lights and wits of that day and they served the public
with a unique and interesting bill of entertainment. Riley
and Nye remained long in double harness and a rare
attachment of mutual affection grew up between them
that ended only with death.
·
It was during this time that I saw much of Riley, and,
like all others who have known him intimately, learned
to love him. When we met at Indianapolis, his home,
we shared the last minute together and he invariably saw
me off at the station. When he came to Terre Haute,
my home, as he frequently did, he was our guest. It was
my privilege to arrange the first public entertainments
he gave in Terre Haute. His first audiences were small, ·
but later there was never room enough to accomodate the
eager multitude that thronged to hear him. He was a
consummate artist, and he would have made a wonderful
actor. His power of mimicry was simply marvelous. By
the magic of his art he could with equal facility contort
his face into that of a babe or an octogenarian. His body
vielded to the same strange sorcery and accommodated
itself perfectly to all his wide range of poses and person-
alities. He had a soft, musical and deliciously modulated-
voice which, with his wonderfuly mobile and expressive
features, wrought a spell almost of witchery upon his
listeners. His pathos was incomparably tender and im-
pressive. I have seen large audiences sit breathless, tears
glistening in their eyes, under its potent spell. Old and
young, cultured and unlettered shared equally in their
appreciation of his opulent gifts. They all understood
Riley, and were equally charmed by his grace and power,
and all loved the poet and honored the man.
Riley dressed with the same scrupulous care that he
wrote. His clothes, like his words, had to fit to per-
fection. He was always clean-shaven and neat as a fash-
ion-plate. Yet he was modest in his attire and dressed
with becoming simplicity of taste. He retired late at night
and when he went to his room carried an armful of books
with him and read until almost daylight. He instinctively
shrank from personal praise. Once I complimented him


h
unity was mis
1, and the love the little children lavished upon
the crowning glory of his life. Riley himself
remained a child at heart among his troops of merry chil-
din and with them he romped and played, he sang and
danced, he loved and dreamed the festive hours away in
enchanting bowers of the fairy-world of his own
creation. And who shall say that the child-world is not
after all the real world, the sweet and sane world where
love and peace and innocence and kindness reign and
war and strife and hatred are unknown!
The beautiful characteristic personal letters from Riley
keep him near to us now that he has passed from earthly
scenes. He always wrote in optimistic mood and in a
vein of kindly, wholesome humor. The following letter
was
received from him after a delightful visit at his
home, during which I had jocularly called him "The
bench-legged poet," and following which I had sent him
some roses of which he was passionately fond:
y dear Debs:-
Do you think I've entirely forgotten all I owe you?
No: that query is gratuitous, and knowledge of your loy-
alty throughout the past forbids all affection of question-
g it now. But I've been anything but a well man for
long, long time, and in consequence I've simply been
prived of the pleasure of expressing to you, until now,
ripest, richest gratitude for your recent floral re-
mbrance. Tom Moore sings in effect,-
may break-you may shatter the little bench-legeg'd
poet if you will,
the scent of Debs' basket of roses will cling round
him still!"
May this find you as glad at heart as your gift made
and may your gentle interest in all human kind never
ax nor wane though all the stars of heaven keep up their

PITTECTIONfatery
J. W.
And now, his chosen work completed, Iris beautiful fe
ended, his fame secure, and his name immortal, he has
fallen asleep, pillowed upon the bounteous breast of the
mother of us all. He sleeps in the sanctuary of the elect,
in the blessings of the children he loved, and they will
weave garlands of "Old Fashioned Roses," fresh with
the breath of the morning, in memory of their poet and
friend through all coming years.
}


WENDELL, PHILLIPS: ORATOR & ABOLITIONÍST 21
Wendell Phillips: Orator
Orator and
Abolitionist

"The people is a beast of muddy brain
That knows not its own strength, and therefore stands.
Loaded with wood and stone; the powerless hands
Of a mere child guide it with bit and rein;
One kick would be enough to break the chain,
But the beast fears, and what the child demands
It does; nor its own terror understands,
Confused and stupefied by bugbears vain.
Most wonderful! With its own hands it ties
And gags itself-gives itself death and war
For pence doled out by Kings from its own store.
Its own are all things between earth and heaven;
Fat this it knows not; and if one arise
算
​tell the truth, it kills him unforgiven."
-Campanella.
O pay homage to the martyrs of history, the men
and women who died that we who came after them
might live, has always been to me a duty of love.
I never go to Alton, Illinois, without visiting the
tob of Elijah P. Lovejoy, the pioneer abolitionist who
was murdered there by a pro-slavery mob on November
7 1837. The tragic end of Lovejoy's stormy career was
tle signal for the beginning of the still more tempestuous
dreer of Wendell Phillips. When the torch fell from
the nerveless grasp of the slain anti-slavery editor in
llinois it was eagerly seized and defiantly held aloft by
rising young lawyer in Massachusetts, who was destined
become the commanding figure and achieve world-
ide fame in the bitter and bloody struggle, then in its
cipient stages, for the overthrow of chattel slavery in
the United States.
It was in 1831, when young Phillips was in his twen-
fieth year, that William Lloyd Garrison began the publica-



22
EUGENE V. DEBS
J.
A
і
tion of his anti-slavery firebrand, The Liberator. In Jan-
uary of the following year, 1832, the Anti-Slavery Societ
of New England was organized in Boston with twely
apostles, Garrison heading the list. In October, 1835, tl
mob of "gentlemen of property and standing" attack
Garrison in Boston and attempted to lynch him for pr
testing against the lawless suppression of a meeting of
"Boston Female Anti-Slavery Society." Wendell P
lips, then a youth of twenty-four, was an eye-witness
this cowardly and disgraceful scene, the significance
which flashed upon his keen brain and struck him w
horror and indignation. Says one of his biographe
"A young man, tall, stately, impassive, of deep conv
tions and of unquenchable resolves, witnesses the eve
of a day. His soul knows the manhood of force as well
as the eloquence of speech. Garrison is being dragged
through the streets of Boston; the young man follows,
while respect for law, peace tenets, and personal rights
are rioting in his brain. Pregnant liberty is heaving in
the qualms. The mob, incited by the cries of violence, y
hands on Garrison, put a rope about his waist and d
him to imprisonment! What a memorable day for
Puritan city! The abolitionist, Wendell Phillips,s
born."
Yes, it was on this eventful day that Wendell Phillips
was born. He had but recently been admitted to the ar
completing his course in college with the most brit
honors, but this shocking incident, so pregnant with In-
ister forebodings, terminated his career as a lawyer 1-
most before it was begun. He had been sruck speechles
with amazement when he saw that the mob consisted of
his own Beacon Hill friends, eminently conservative ger-
tlemen of the "upper class"-that it was in truth a
"broadcloth mob," as the afterward characterized it, and
with his keen intuition he understood at a glance what
that mob and the incident which had given rise toit-
portended to the future of his country. He closed up s
law books and turned the key in his office door. Te
brilliant future his friends had predicted for him at the
bar now lay inexorably behind him. In the mad cry of
that brutal mob he had heard the clarion call of his own
high destiny. There was a sharp and sudden turn in his




WENDELL PHILLIPS: ORATOR & ABOLITIONIST
23
career. The path of duty now lay clear before him. It
was a thorny road in travel, and perilous, but this mind
was made up and he would follow that road straight to
the end wheresoever it might lead.
Friends and admirers of the brilliant, cultured and
aristocratic young man were shocked beyond belief when
he proclaimed himself the foe of slavery. He must be
taking leave of his senses to turn his back upon the
wealth and culture which invited him with open arms, to
sprun the honors and emoluments of the elect, and to ally
himself with the despised abolition movement! For at
that time Boston was even more abjectly servile to the
slave power than were the cities of the South where
slavery had its actual existence. Bourgeois Boston of
1835 did not disgrace herself by having slaves of her own.
That would have done violence to her “culture” and, be-
sides, the application of machinery to industry and the
development of the factory system had made free (?)
labor preferable to slave labor, and so she sold her slaves
to her Southern neighbors and was content to enrich
herself henceforth by trading with the slave owners,
building her palatial splendors upon the bowed bodies and
scarred backs of a race in chains, and amassing her proud
fortunes out of their unpaid labor.
And this shameless and inhuman traffic in which the
ruling class of Boston and New England engaged had
the unqualified and almost unanimous support of the
press and the pulpit, the colleges and universities, as well
as the courts, executive chambers, and legislative halls.
The brutal mobing of Garrison was approved and ap-
plauded by almost the entire press and pulpit of Boston.
Editors, preachers, professors, politicians, office-holders,
all were subservient, as they had always been and are
to-day, to the "business interests," the master class power
based upon the exploitation of labor, which ruled the
community and the state.
The Suothern states were frankly built upon the found- ·
ation of chattel slavery and defiantly avowed their de-
termination to maintain their "peculiar institution" at any
cost. The following article in the Telescope of Columbia,
South Carolina a representative Southern journal, voiced
the sentiment and proclaimed the attitude of that section:

24
EUGENE V. DEBS
"Let us declare, through the public journals of our
country, that the question of slavery is not, and shall not
be, open to discussion; that the very moment any private
individual attempts to lecture us upon its evils and im-
morality, in the same moment his tongue shall be cut out
and cast upon the dunghill."
The Southern states were frankly built upon the found-
a response in the sons of the men who fell at Bunker
Hill. Boston, "The Cradle of Liberty!" What a myth.
and what a mockery! The slave mart had swept the
cradle into the bay and cold-blooded "business interests"
now ruled supreme. All else, especially liberty to the
slave, was under the ban.
The manufacturing, business and trading interests of
Massachusetss were hand in glove with the slave-owning
power of South Caroline.
And this was the condition that confronted Wendell
Phillips in his native Boston when he renounced his al-
legiance to his kith and kin and threw down the gauntlet
to the heartless power that held a race in chains and dis-
graced the government under which he lived. That hour
his fate was sealed. The darling of Beacon Street had
now become the fiend incarnate. Wendell Phillips, by
his own deliberate choice, turned his back upon society
and all it had to offer him, bade farewell to family, friends
and neighbors, and plunged into the fiery furnace to be
tempered for the perilous part he was to take in the im-
pending catastrophe.
The example was inspiring; the spectacle sublime. The
soul of the orator was born. The tongue of Wendell
Phillips became the scourge of flame and hot eloquence
burned for utterance from his inspired lips. The scarred
and bleeding back of the slave had set fire to every drop
in his veins and charged him to the lips with avenging
wrath.
At this supreme juncture the inevitable happened and
the lightning fell. Lovejoy was foully murdered and
Wendell Phillips stirred the nation with the first outburst
of his fiery eloquence. Beside the fallen form of the
first martyr stood erect and defiant the first orator of
the abolition movement. Lovejoy's murder and martyr-
dom were Phillips' inspiration and consecration.

WENDELL PHILLIPS: ORATOR & ABOLITIONIST 25
The Lovejoy speech of Wendell Phillips in Faneuil
Hall, December 8, 1837, is the most remarkable utterance
of its kind in history. The great crowd which packed
the hall was anything but sympathetic when the youth
of twenty-six arose to answer the commonwealth's apol-
ogist for Lovejoy's murder. But from the moment the
first impassioned sentence fell from his lips he was the
master of the situation. The pro-slavery claquers showed
their teeth and snarled aloud, but soon subsided under
master of the situation. The pro-slavery claqueurs showed
silenced all clamor and converted a threatening mob into
a cheering multitude.
Wendell Phillips stood forth the matchless champion,
the unrivalled orator of the anti-slavery movement, and
during almost thirty years of storm and stress, of trial
and tempest, of savage hatred, bitter persecution and oft-
repeated threats of mobbing and assassination, he stood
his ground fearlessly, defiantly, with never a shadow of
compromise, until at last the bloody conflict ended in the
overthrow of the slave power and the emancipation of
the chattel slaves. The lofty motive, the supreme courage,
the masterly oratory, the single-hearted devotion, the utter
unselfishness, the noble idealism, the sublime faith of the
n were challenged and tested by fire a thousand times.
I he never trimmed or evaded, never dodged or ex-
ced, never apologized, explained or compromised. He
was the thunderbolt of retributive justice and knew only
now to strike and shatter, to denounce and destroy the
iniquitous slave system. The higher its defenders the
polder his attack and the fiercer his invective. Webster
and Choate, when all they were ever famed for is for-
gotton, will be remembered for their merciless castigation
by Wendell Phillips.

ยา
"He stood upon the world's broad treshold: wide
The din of battle and slaughter rose;
He saw God stand upon the weaker side,
hat sank in seeming loss before it foes;
Many there were who made great haste and sold
Unto the coming enemy their swords.
He scorned their gifts of fame, and power, and gold,
And, underneath their soft and flowery 'words,
}
1
!
{

26
EUGENE V. DEBS
Hear the cold serpent hiss; therefore he went
And humbly joined him to the weaker part,
Fanatic named, and fool, yet well content
So he could be the nearer to God's heart,
And feel its solemn pulses sending blood
Through all the widespread veins of endless good."
To the sordid merchants of Boston who were coining
the blood of slaves into luxurious self-indulgence and
forcing fugitives back into the jaws of hell from which
they escaped, he thundered: "One hundred per cent
profit is better than the most eloquent lips that ever
spoke. You may think it strange for an American to
speak thus of a system that is to make bankrupt one-
half of his country, and paralize the other; but though
I love my country, I love my countrymen more, and these
countrymen are the colored men of America. For their
sakes I say, welcome to the bolt that smites our com-
merce to the dust, if with it, by the blessing of God, it
will strike off the fetters of the slave."
To the cowering black slaves and the meek and sub-
missive majority of all colors he appealed with flaming
passion and thrilling eloquence: "The greatest praise
government can win is, that its citizens know their rights
and dare maintain them. The best use of good lar
to teach men to trample bad laws under their feet."
He was in very truth "the unconscious hero of le
cause he pleaded."
I was too young to realize the monumental work, he
immortal achievement of Wendell Phillips until long
after it was completed. Slavery had a firm grip on
Indiana where I lived, and we did not learn of Phillips
and Garrison in our school books. But, in the years that
followed we began to hear about these apostles of free-
dom. Their cause had finally triumphed. They were
no longer infamous but honorable, no longer monsters
but heroes. Garrison's work was finished, Phillips' just
begun. Phillips saw with prophetic eye that the ahli-
tion of chattel slavery was but the prelude to the n-
finitetly greater struggle for the emancipation of
the working classes of all races and colors on the face
of the earth. He clearly foresaw the mission and com-
i

WENDELL PHILLIPS: ORATOR & ABOLITIONIST 27
prehended the import of the labor movement, and once
more his great heart, his magnificent abilities and his
moving eloquence were enlisted in the cause of oppressed
and suffering humanity. He glorified the cause of labor
and declared the labor movement the greatest of the age.
He wrote labor's platform of protest against exploita-
tion under the wage system and its declaration of revolt
against that cruel and oppressive system. At a Labor
Convention held at Worcester, Massachusetts, in Sep-
tember, 1871, the first platform containing the essential
principles and demands of socialism in the United States
was unanimously adopted. This platform was written
and presented by Wendell Phillips and reads, in part,
as follows:
"We affirm, as a fundamental principle, that labor, the
creator of wealth, is entitled to all it creates.
"Affirming this, we avow ourselves willing to accept
the final results of the operation of a principle so rad-
ical, such as the overthrow of the whole profit-making
system, the extinction of all monopolies, the abolition of
privileged classes, universal education and fraternity, per-
fect freedom of exchange, and, best and grandest of
all, the final obliteration of that foul stigma upon our
so-called Christian civilization, the poverty of the
masses...
"We declare war with the wages system, which de-
moralizes the hirer and the hired, cheats both and en-
slaves the workingmen; war with the present system of
finance, which robs labor, and gorges capital, makes the
rich richer and the poor poorer, and turns a republic into
an aristocracy of capital."
The platform pledged the movement to the coöperative
control of industry, a shorter work-day, equal rights for
women, and in advocating its adoption Mr. Phillips said:
"I regard the movement with which this convention is
connected as the grandest and most comprehensive move-
ment of the age. . . . I can hardly name the idea in
which humanity is interested, which I do not consider
locked up in the success of this movement of the people
to take possession of their own." That was almost half
•

28
EUGENE V. DEBS
a century ago. The keen eye of Wendell Phillips saw
even then the proletarian forces of the future gathering,
and there spread out before his clarified vision the mod-
ern labor movement embracing its millions of revolu-
tionary devotees of all races and nationalities and des-
tined to emancipate all the working classes of the world.
Having myself joined the labor movement in 1875, I
came to hear and know more and more of Wendell Phil-
lips. He was then in the lecture field and I proposed
to a little club of which I was a member that we secure
him if possible for a date at Terre Haute. The arrange-
ment was soon made and on November 25, 1878, he
came to our city to fill his engagement. It was the first
and only time I ever met him. He was then sixty-seven,
erect as a pine, and the handsomest figure of a courtly
elderly gentleman I had ever seen. His locks were white
as snow but his complexion was florid, his step agile, the
grip of his hand firm and hearty, and he appeared, not-
withstanding his years, a tower of strength. Yet, alas,
less than seven years later he fell into his last sleep.
The fires of his earlier life had softened to a mellow
glow at sixty-seven, and the asperity of the fighter
seemed entirely gone. The majestic form, the elegant
figure, the graceful carriage, the gentle manner, the be-
nignant smile, all betokened the sweet and soulful nature
of the genuine gentleman. He was the very essence of
bodily and spiritual refinement. Every line in his hand-
some countenance denoted nobility of birth and breeding.
His eyes were kind and gentle as those of a mother, and
I remember wondering how eyes filled with such tender-
ness could once have flashed with the fires of volcanic
wrath which burst from his indignant soul. His voice
was soft and sweet and musical as the tinkling of a sil-
ver bell, and his manner gracious and urbane, without
the slightest affectation. I was too young to study critic-
ally the features of our illustrious guest, but I remember
distinctly feeling that I stood in the presence of true
greatness. Behind the gentleman I could visualize the
man, the warrior, the liberator, the humanitarian, the
lover of his kind. I did not look upon him with awe,
but with reverence and love. He had fought for me and
my class with all his strength of body and soul his whole


WENDELL PHILLIPS: ORATOR & ABOLITIONIST 29
life long. He had been hated, denounced, and socially
exiled that I and mine might live and enjoy, aspire and
fulfil, and here he stood, and with my own eyes I could
now behold the man, meditate upon his greatness, an
find inspiration in his noble example. Here before me
stood the hero who had challenged the whole wicked,
malevolent power of human slavery and had preserved
unsullied as the honor of his mother the high purpose
of his manhood and the priceless integrity of his soul.
He never once lowered his standard, never hesitated or
faltered, never cowered or compromised, but stood erect
and unafraid in every hour of trial and demanded the
unconditional surrender of the robber systems of chattel
and wage slavery.
The beautiful lecture he gave at the opera house at
Terre Haute cannot be described in words. The picture
of the great abolition orator on the stage that night is
vividly preserved in my memory. His commanding fig-
ure, clad in conventional black, was one of noble majesty,
his florid features eloquent with animation, his every
gesture grace itself; he spoke in soft, mellow, musical
tones and held his audience breathless to the last word
of his masterly discourse, which was as scholarly as it
was eloquent, profound and impressive.
After the lecture he was our guest at a quiet little
luncheon. He seemed to enjoy the occasion. He chatted
with us freely in a most familiar manner. He thanked
us graciously for our hospitality and I then accompanied
him to his room at the hotel. As the chairman of the
lecture committee it fell to me to pay the lecturer his
fee. The audience, unfortunately, had not been large and
the financial loss was considerable. Mr. Phillips felt
this keenly, and it plainly distressed him not a little.
"Please take back part of the fee to cover your loss," he
said to me in the kindest possible way, when I placed
the money in his hands.
"No, Mr. Phillips," said I, "you have earned it, it is
yours, and you must keep it. If we had come out ahead
you would have accepted no more than your fee and
we cannot consent to your accepting less than the stip-
ulated amount." He generously insisted upon handing



30
EUGENE V. DEBS
back part of the money, but it was as persistently de-
clined, and he consented at last, reluctantly, to keep it.
Soon afterward he left the city. The next day I re-
ceived a note from him which read as follows:
Dear Sir:
Tuesday.
Should you chance to receive any more letters for me,
please forward them care of Jno. I. D. Bristol, Mil-
waukee, Wis. I shall not soon forget yesterday's pleasant
evening.
E. V. Debs.
Yrs. truly,
Wendell Phillips.
Two years later the Brotherhood of Locomotive Fire-
men, with which I was then officially connected, held its
annual convention at Terre Haute, and I extended an in-
vitation to Mr. and Mrs. Phillips to be our guests. The
following acknowledgment came by due course of mail:
My dear Sir:
8 Sept., '82.
Many thanks for your invitation to Mrs. Phillips and
myself to the Annual Convention of the Locomotive Fire-
men. Most earnestly do I wish we were in such health`
as would allow us to come.
But I feel glad to be remembered in the far off city
whose hospitality I have enjoyed so often.
Cordially yrs.,
Mr. Eugene V. Debs.
Wendell Phillips.
The brave, beautiful wife of Wendell Phillips, a life-
long invalid, was his unfailing solace and his chief in-
spiration. They were lovers indeed, and their mutual
tenderness and devotion was touching in the extreme.
Mrs. Phillips, who had been Ann Terry Greene, was as
heroic of soul as she was frail of body. She was aboli-
tionist to the core and gloried with her husband in the
high privilege of serving the_cause.
Woman Suffrage had in Wendell Phillips one of its

WENDELL PHILLIPS: JRATOR & ABOLITIONIST 31
!
*
earliest and most eloquent and effective champions, and
it is noteworthy that the last public speech he delivered
was in eulogy of Harriet Martineau and of the cause
she had so fearlessly and faithfully served. He advocated
prison reform and he opposed capital punishment. He
stood for equal suffrage, for equality of opportunity, and
for universal freedom. He knew no distinction of race,
color or sex, and recognized no boundary lines between.
'human beings. He had cosmic vision and the highest
sense of social obligation. His heart was in his work.
and his soul was in his speech. The great work he did
will endure and his matchless orations will live for all
time.
The name of Wendell Phillips will forever honor the
cause of freedom and forever glorify the American
Republic.


32
EUGENE V. DEBS
I
Recollections of Ingersoll
T was in the national political campaign of 1880 that
Henry Ward Beecher introduced Robert Green In-
gersoll to a great audience in the Academy of Music,
Brooklyn, as "the most brilliant speaker of the Eng-
lish tongue of all men on this globe." Coming from
Beecher, himself a master of language and the most elo-
quent pulpit orator of his day, this remarkable tribute,
greeted with tumultuous cheers by the vast audience, but
confirmed the popular verdict rendered long before by
the American people.
Robert G. Ingersoll was without doubt the most brill-
iant speaker of the English tongue then living, and in
another century when the ignorant prejudice that still
clings to his name shall have been cleared away the world
will know his true greatness and honor him as one of
the foremost men of his age.
The fame of Ingersoll as an orator of surpassing
eloquence and power was established as a very young
At twenty-seven, in the campaign of 1860, he was
the candidate of his party for congress in the Fourt
District of Illinois, and it was in the series of debate
he had with Judge William Kellogg, his republican op
ponent, that he first showed his brilliant powers to the
people of his state. Curiously enough, as it now appears,
Judge Kellogg, the republican candidate, upheld the Fug-
itive Slave Law and defended the laws in favor of slav-
ery, while Ingersoll as a Douglas democrat denounced
the Fugitive Slave Law in the fiercest terms and con-
demned slavery as the most infamous crime of the age.
Colonel Clark E. Carr, the author of Illini, who heard
these debates wrote as follows:
"It may be doubted whether there was ever pro-
nounced by any human being so terrific a philippid
against human slavery and the Fugitive Slave Law. I
myself had heard Beecher and Garrison and Wendell
Phillips and Lovejoy and Giddings, but I had never heard
it equaled."




RECOLLECTIONS OF INGERSOLL
33
It was after hearing the opening debate at Galesburg
that Colonel Carr said of Ingersoll: "From that hour I
have always believed that Robert G. Ingersoll was the
greatest orator who ever stood before a public audience.”
But it was not until he made his celebrated speech
nominating Blaine for the presidency in the Republican
national convention at Cincinnati in June, 1876, that the
country at large came to know him. That eloquent and
thrilling speech fairly electrified the great convention and
instanteously the name of Ingersoll was flashed over the
land and next morning was on the lips of millions. The
national fame of the master orator was won by a single
speech.
Three months later the brilliant speech to the old sol-
diers at Indianapolis containing his wonderful “Vision
of War" was delivered and the report of it and its mag-
ical effect upon the multitude who heard it spread far
and wide in all directions.
It was at this time that I first heard of Ingersoll and
of his marvelous eloquence, but it was not until he made.
his lecture tour of the Pacific coast, a year or so later,
and was assailed with such vituperative frenzy by the
pulpit in every city he visited for his telling blows against
orthodoxy, that I felt myself stirred by his appeal and
eager to see the man who dared thus boldly to speak his
honest thought and defy all the hosts of ignorance and
superstition. For be it known that although less than
forty years ago, an incredibly widespread belief still
existed in a literal hell of fire and brimstone.
The truth and terror of this orthodox hell had been
burnt into my child-mind at Sunday school, and to deny
or even to doubt it was to fly in the face of God him-
self and deny the beneficence of his works.
The ranker a superstition, the more sacred it is held
by its unreasoning devotees. Ingersoll was guilty of
attacking the sacred dogma of hellfire and the eternal
roasting of the race for the sin of having been created,
and only a monster could be guilty of such an abomin-
able crime. The church felt itself outraged and the
priesthood and ministry turned out en masse to crush
the wicked infidel and impious inconoclast. The fury of
these clerical assaults upon Ingersoll now seem almost

!


34
EUGENE V. Debs
unbelievable. He was denounced in a perfect frenzy of
malicious abuse as the vilest of sinners and the basest
of mortals. Ingersoll, great soul that he was, stood serene
and unruffled through it all, observing calmly that "these
are the holy gentlemen who love their enemies and treat
their neighbors as themselves."
It was while he was being thus shamefully maligned,
misrepresented and persecuted for denying that God was
a monster and that a roaring hell awaited most of his
children, that his calm courage, his serene self-reliance,
and his eloquent and fearless espousal of the truth as
he saw it, enlisted my sympathy. He stood his ground
alone and fought his fight without compromise to the
end. I can never forget how his heroic spirit stirred
me; how I felt myself thrilled and inspired by his flam-
ing appeal and impassioned eloquence. He did more
than any other man, living or dead, to put out the fires
and fears of hell and rid the world of superstition.
Scarcely anyone outside of an asylum any longer believes
in the barbarous dogma of an everlasting torture-cham-
ber. The Reverend Billy Sunday is one of the few
monuments of the stoneage of theology. He plagiarizes
Ingersoll to fan the dying embers into flame again and
to keep salvation on a sound and paying commercial
basis.
Robert Ingersoll could without doubt have been presi-
dent of the United States. But not for one moment was
he tempted by the lure of political preferment. The
highest office the people had to bestow appeared con-
temptible to him because he knew it could be obtained
only at the politician's price of manhood and self-respect.
Above all place and power, all earthly honors, Robert
Ingersoll held his principles, his convictions, the integrity
of his own soul. He hated sham and superstition, he
abhorred slavery in every form, he loved truth and justice
with a sacred passion, and with his soul inviolate he
worshiped at the holy shrine of freedom. A thousand
times he declared he wanted no right, no opportunity de-
nied any other human being on earth, and he meant it.
He boldly challenged the powers that oppressed the weak;
he held in lofty scorn the titled snobbery of state and
church that imposed meekness and submission upon their
RECOLLECTIONS OF INGERSOLL
35
despoiled victims, and he heartily despised the social con-
ventions which honored idleness and parasitism and de-
graded useful service and honest toil,
During these years of crusade and conflict Ingersoll
was the central and commanding figure in public life and
the most talked about man in America. The line between
his friends and foes was sharply drawn. He was either
loved or hated, honored or despised. His enemies, goad-
ed to frenzy by his merciless attacks upon their ancient
Jehovah, their orthodox hell, and their pious traditions,
denounced him with implacable hatred, while his friends,
the people who actually knew him and who understood
his pure, unselfish motives, his noble, high-souled pur-
pose, fairly worshiped him as a savior of humanity.
He pleaded for the negro as no one ever had before,
he espoused the cause of the Chinaman when it was al-
most treason to breathe a sympathetic word in his be-
half, he protested passionately against the persecution of
the Jew, he stood staunchly for the rights of woman, he
undered with a Titan's voice in condemnation of the
imes committed against childhood, he made the most
oquent, touching, inspiring appeal ever made in behalf
the criminal class, so-called, and to the hour of his
ath he never once turned a deaf ear to the voice of
tress or refused aid and comfort to a suffering fellow-
ng. The weak and unfortunate, the sorrowing and
spairing, regardless of color or creed, whoever or
hatever they might be, had in "Bob" Ingersoll as tender
ympathizer and as true a friend as ever ministered
the needs of fellow-men.
Garfield called him "Royal Bob" because everything
did was in royal fashion, but he was never more royal
an when he poured out his great heart in loving sym-
thy to the poor and needy and emptied his purse to
e last dollar to relieve their poverty and distress. I
ve borne frequent witness to Ingersoll's great-hearted
e for the poor. I have more than once seen him press
ive dollar bill into the hands of a chamber-maid, a
-boy, or a train porter, and then raise his finger to
s lips to admonish the recipient that no thanks were
e and that no mention was to be made of it. Inger-


36
EUGENE V. DEBS
soll spent what would have amounted to an immense
fortune in just that quiet, unostentatious manner.
When Ingersoll had his office in New York it was
always besieged with the unfortunates who reckoned on
his sympathy and called on him for the aid denied them
by their Christian friends and neighbors. And he never
refused as long as he had the wherewithal to give. But
the demands not infrequently exceeded his means. Once
he said me with tears in his eyes: "I can hardly go to
my office any more; I can't help them all and I haven't
the heart to turn them away."
Among his callers one day there was a young woman
whose father had been rich but had suddenly failed. She
had belonged to a fashionable church but when bank-
ruptcy came she found herself alone. Her former friends
no longer knew her. The minister had told her they
would see what could be done to help her-and that was
the end of it. Her situation finally became desperate.
She must find some way of getting a living. She had
heard of Ingersoll. He was a wicked infidel, of course,
but he helped the poor, and to him she went as a la
resort..
"What can I do for you, my young friend?" TI
kind, gentle blue eyes of the great agnostic looked wit
ineffable tenderness into the agitated features of t
young woman in his ante-room. At once her fear
parted, her trembling ceased, and she briefly told h
pathetic story. Tears rolled down the cheeks of t
"wicked infidel." He did not tell her he would
what could be done for her," but the first thing he
was to thrust his hand deep into his pocket, draw fo
a twenty-dollar gold piece, and press it into the asto
ished woman's hand; he then bade her be of good che
and return to his office at the same hour the followin
day. She was in a transport of delight. A new hop
brightened her outlook and warmed her heart to li
again. She had found a real friend, and when she r
turned the next day it was to be told that arrangeme
had been made for her for a course in stenography a
typewriting, for her care while she was taking her le
sons, and for a position in which she could earn he
own living as soon as the course was completed. Tha

RECOLLECTIONS OF INGERSOLL
37
is how Ingersoll the "godless infidel" practiced his re-
ligion while his cruel and malicious detractors mouthed
their pious phrases and made loud profession of their
creeds.
Late in the seventies, when Colonel Ingersoll was
lecturing under the management of James Redpath and
packing the greatest auditoriums in the country to over-
flowing, he came to Terre Haute and I saw him for the
first time. I met him at the railway station on arrival
and escorted him to his hotel. He at once filled my eye
and captivated me completely. There was something in-
tensely fascinating in his personality, an irresistible
charm in his presence, a liquid melody in his voice-and
withal he bore the stamp of genius and the towering
majesty of a man! I felt that here was the greatest
man in all the world.
We had in Terre Haute at that time an organization
known as the Occidental Literary Club. It was under
he auspices of this club, consisting of young men of
terary ambition, that Ingersoll delivered his first lecture
Terre Haute-April 30th, 1878.
Ingersoll's manager, Mr. Redpath, had written me
rom Washington under date of April 14th: "You need
ot be afraid of speaking so extravagantly of the Col-
nel's eloquence that people will be disappointed. He
s the most eloquent man now living. He astonished
New England and in Boston where they hear the best.
ratory all the time he made the profoundest sensation
of the last fifteen years and drew the biggest audiences.
You will find that I have not over-stated his mar-
elous power over audiences. Boldly announce him as
he greatest orator of the world. He is.”
The opera house was packed to the doors. All the
surrounding towns had sent in delegations and standing.
oom was at a premium. Many had to be turned away.
The subject was "The Liberty of Man, Woman and
child." It was my privilege to introduce the speaker
o the audience.
Never until that night had I heard real oratory; never
before had I listened enthralled to such a flow of gen-
uine eloquence. The speaker was in his prime, not yet
forty-five, tall, shapely, graceful and commanding, the
38
EUGENE V. DEBS
perfect picture of the beau ideal of his art. Never can
I forget his features, his expressive blue eyes, his melli-
fluous voice, his easy, graceful gestures, and his com-
manding oratorical powers. He rippled along softly as
a meadow brook or he echoed with the thunder of some
mighty cataract. He pleaded for every right and pro-
tested against every wrong; he touched every emotion
and expressed every mood of his enchanted listeners.
His words fell as pearls in sunshine from his inspired
lips and his impassioned periods glowed with the fervid
enthusiasm of their thrice-eloquent author.
Redpath was right. Ingersoll was the greatest orator.
in all the world. No pen or tongue could ever describe
his brilliant eloquence or his matchless powers.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton wrote of Ingersoll's oratory:
"I heard Mr. Ingersoll many years ago in Chicago. The
hall seated 5,000 people; every inch of standing room.
was occupied; aisles and platform crowded to overflow-
ing. He held that vast audience for three hours so com-
pletely entranced that when he left the platform no or
moved, until suddenly, with loud cheers and applaus
they recalled him. He returned smiling and said: 'I'
glad you called me back, as I have something more to sa
Can you stand another half hour?' 'Yes: an hour, tw
hours, all night,' was shouted from various parts of th
house; and he talked on with unabated vigor, to the de
light of his audience. This was the greatest triumph o
oratory I had ever witnessed." . . "I have heard th
greatest orators of this century in England and Amer
ica; O'Connell in his palmiest days, on the Home Rul
question; Gladstone and John Bright in the House o
Commons; Spurgeon, James and Stopford Brooks, i
their respective pulpits; our own Wendell Phillips, Henry
Ward Beecher, and Webster and Clay, on great occas
ions; the stirring eloquence of anti-slavery orators, bot
in congress and on the platform, but none of them eve
equaled Robert Ingersoll in his highest flights.'
But it was not only as orator that Ingersoll was with
out a peer, he was great, supremely great in all his con
ceptions of human relationships and in his outlook upor
the world. He was as modest as he was great, as
simple and as unassuming as he was lofty-minded and


RECOLLECTIONS OF INGERSOLL
39
noble-souled. He had a heart great enough for a god
and he overflowed with love and kindness for his fellow-
men.
He was the least selfish and the most generous
and magnanimous soul I have ever known. Despite his
bitter hatred of mind-dwarfing and soul-enslaving super-
stitions, or perhaps because of it, he had a profoundly
reverent nature and was saturated in every fiber with
the essence of true religion, the religion of love and serv-
ice and consecration to humanity.
When he was trying the famous Davis will case in
Butte, Montana, he learned of a couple of orphan sisters
who had been left destitute. He gave his lecture on
Shakespeare for their benefit. Some two thousand dol-
lars were realized. The entire proceeds were given over
to the orphans. He did this times without number dur-
ing his career on the platform. I happened to be in his
room at his hotel in Indianapolis when he received a
telegram requesting him to deliver a lecture in Philadel-
phia for the benefit of Walt Whitman, and I can still
see his fine features light up as he said, "Certainly I will.
It will give me real pleasure to be of service to dear Old
Walt."
The good Christian board of managers of the Academy
of Music refused Ingersoll the use of their house be-
cause he was an "infidel," but another place was secured
and the lecture given for the benefit of the good gray
poet who soon afterward passed to the great beyond.
In the fall of 1878 Colonel Ingersoll returned to Terre
Haute and gave his beautiful and poetic lecture-on Robert
Burns. On the day of the lecture it rained in torrents.
We of the committee felt that we were in for a con-
siderable financial loss. The colonel was not slow in
noticing our plight. "Boys," said he, in the most cheer-
ful voice, "don't worry in the least. If the rain keeps
the people away I will charge you nothing for the lecture
and pay my own expenses. That was characteristic of
the great-hearted humanitarian. We were relieved of
our anxiety. But in spite of the rain the house was
crowded. The late Daniel W. Voorhees, United States
senator from Indiana, the "Tall Sycamore of the Wab-
ash," whose home was at Terre Haute, and myself ac-
companied Colonel Ingersoll to the Opera House. As



40
Eugene V. DEBS
we got aboard a street car the rain fell in a perfect del-
uge. Senator Voorhees remarked: "The rain will make
no difference to-night. Colonel Ingersoll is the only
man in America who can draw against the elements and
fill the biggest house on the rainiest night." And so it
proved to be.
From Terre Haute Colonel Ingersoll went to Cincin-
nati on the midnight train. I went to the depot to see
him off, but when the train pulled out I was aboard with
him. The Colonel was too magnetic, too kind and hos-
pitable, and I simply had to go with him. The rain con-
tinued to fall at Cincinnati. Colonel Ingersoll looked
out of the hotel window, shook his head and said: "That
rain is apt to cost me $500.00 and yet I haven't even been
consulted about it." But it didn't, for the house could
not have held more people.
The personal company of Colonel Ingersoll was a joy
indeed and his conversation a continuous charm and de-
light. On the stage his eloquence was brilliant and sus-
tained from his opening note to the last word of his
peroration, but it was in the social circle, surrounded by
the choice spirits that loved to do him honor, that the
magnetism of the man and the marvelous gift of his
conversation were made manifest and shone forth in all
their incomparable glory. Ella Wheeler Wilcox said:
"His conversation is a string of pearls." It was true.
Henry Ward Beecher called him "The golden-mouthed
American." Every one who ever sat heart-to-heart with
him will bear willing testimony to the enchantment of
his personal discourse. His lips were golden and his
tongue tipped with the sacred fire. He could entertain
one or a hundred and charm them all with his brilliant
wit, his infectious humor, and his alluring philosophy of
life. The very soul of him shone from his fine coun-
tenance as he scattered with spendthrift hands the spark-
ling jewels of his genius. He spoke in pictures and poems
about art, literature, science, philosophy, history, music,
the drama-everything-and it is a thousand pities that
so many of his most brilliant intellectual gems failed to
find their way into print and are forever lost to the
world.
Sitting in the room of his hotel at Terre Haute after



RECOLLECTIONs of Ingersolİ
41
his lecture one night, he was telling us about his visit
abroad when a cock crowed in a nearby barnyard. He
paused instantly and said, "Shakespeare called that
rooster the "herald of the dawn'-his genius changed a
brick into a diamond in a second."
"Wit," said he, "is the lightning of the soul." And
this: "Think of the alchemy that turns bread into Ham-
-let."
Some time later during the conversation the Colonel
was asked how long his brother Ebon had been dead.
The question went to his heart like a dagger. He dropped
his face in his hands, sobbed aloud, and when he raised
bis head to answer his cheeks were wet with tears. The
love these two noble brothers bore each other can never
be told in words.
The sensitive nature of Ingersoll, his tenderness of
heart, his overflowing pity, his boundless sympathy were
all characteristic of the man. He saw much in his daily
life to pain and shock him, and his tears, like his smiles,
lay very near the surface.
With the whole of his great heart he sympathized with
working men and women who toil. Again and again in
the most thrilling eloquence he appealed to the working
class to assert its rights and take possession of its own.
He loathed and despised aristocratic idleness and de-
punced in the most scathing terms the vampires that
ed upon the vitals of unrequited toil. He could not
scuss the wrongs and sufferings of the poorly-paid and
retchedly-housed victims of exploitation without pas-
onate protest and bitter resentment. He could and did
ht himself literally in their places, and with his sensitive
mpathetic, justice-loving nature he felt the cruel in-
stice they suffered as keenly as if he shared their daily
t. The women and children in factories and sweat-
ops cried out to him, and with every throb of his heart
sympathized with them in their tragic struggle for
istence. One evening as I sat with him he talked about
e poor girls who have to sew for the pittance that keeps
em alive. He had made inquiry and found that the
rls who had made his shirts had received but a miserly
age for their labor. This stirred his wrath and he re-
lved that the wrong should be righted so far at least

42
Eugene V. Debs
as the making of his shirts was concerned. Said he:
"Of course I can't change these inhuman conditions, but
I can and will see to it that the girls who now make my
shirts are paid for their work and are no longer robbed
of their honest earnings."
The birthday of Colonel Ingersoll, August 11th, was
for many years the occasion of a letter or telegram of
congratulation from our family. The letter that follows
was received in acknowledgment of a birthday telegram:
Walton,
Dobbs Ferry-on-Hudson,
Aug. 12, '92.
"My dear Mr. Debs:
A thousand thanks for your beautiful telegram. The
years are growing short. Time seems in a hurry to bring
the birthday around. Well, all we can do is to get what
good we can out of the days as they pass.
Each moment is a bee that flies
With swift and unreturning wing,
Giving its honey to the wise,
And to the fool its poison sting.
I hope that you and yours will have honey all yo
lives. We all send best regards to your father and mot
er to your sisters and to Mrs. Debs and yourself.
In spite of the hot weather we are all perfectly well
including the baby.
With more thanks for your kindness, I remain
Yours always,
R. G. Ingersoll.
Mrs. Ingersoll says 'Give my love to all'-—and
say I."


RECOLLECTIONS OF INGERSOLL
43
Great as Ingersoll was in public life he was greater
still in the charmed circle of his beautiful family and
his happy home. Beneath the blessed roof-tree of the
Ingersolls four generations dwelt together in perfect love
and made home and heaven synonymous terms. Mrs.
Ingersoll, her venerable mother, the beautiful daughters,
the devoted sister and their husbands and children, ah,
what supreme happiness reigned in that royal household!
And to see them all swarm about the Colonel and cover
him with caresses and kisses was a picture for the soul
never to be erased from the memory. A temple of free-
dom, a house of love and joy, a holy shrine was the In-
gersoll home when its master spirit reigned there, and
they who passed its sacred portals, beheld its touching
scenes of felicity and devotion, and enjoyed its hearty,
wholesome hospitality visioned a veritable paradise on
this planet.
Seventeen years have passed since Robert G. Inger-
soll passed from among his fellowmen, but the world
has yet to learn of the true greatness of the man and
the infinite value of his service to humanity.
He freely laid his all upon the altar that those who
came after him might escape the curse of slavery and
the horror of superstition, and know the joy of being
free. He was absolutely true to the highest principles
of his exalted character and to the loftiest aspirations
of his own unfettered soul. He bore the cruelest mis-
representation, the foulest abuse, the vilest calumny, and
the most heartless persecution without resentment or
complaint. He measured up to his true stature in every
hour of trial, he served with fidelity and without com-
promise to the last hour of his noble life, he paid in full
the price of his unswerving integrity to his own soul,
and each passing century to come will add fresh luster
to his immortal fame.




44
EUGENE V. DEBS
John Swinton: Radical Editor and
W
Leader

HEN the history of labor's struggle for emancipa-
tion is written, the name of John Swinton will
illumine some of its darkest as well as some of
its brightest pages. He stood forth in the defense
of the poor and pleaded their cause at a time when he
was not half understood and not appreciated at all.
The grand figure of John Swinton looms before me
as I write. Twenty-two years have passed since first
I met him. He had been one of my heroes long before.
During the darkest days of the Pullman strike John
Swinton was one of its staunchest champions. He stood
face to face with Wall street and charged it with in-
famous crimes, and when John Swinton spoke the people
listened. He had been the friend of Greely, Raymond,
Thurlow Weed, the elder Bennett, Charles A. Dana and
other eminent journalists of that time and had served
as editorial writer and editor-in-chief of New York's
principal daily papers. After Greely he was the only
radical in that group of journalistic celebrities; the only
one among them to denounce the crimes of the ruling
class and to espouse the cause of the common people.
He was profoundly respected by his associates, notwith-
standing he told them the truth about themselves and
their servility to the powers that corrupted the govern-
ment and plundered the people. His response to the
toast "The Independent Press," in which he declared that
the vaunted "independent" press was a myth and that he
and his associates were far better qualified to celebrate
the prostitution of the press, has become a classic, He
did not mince words and his eminent associates took no
exception to his scathing indictment.
But it was as a distinctive champion of the working
people that John Swinton found his chief inspiration and
delight, although it cost him dearly in a material sense.
He had it in his power to command the post of editor-


JOHN SWINTON: RADICAL EDITOR AND LEADER
45
in-chief of any of the great New York dailies and might
easily have become one of their owners had he been so
inclined, for Wall street, though he hated it and fought
it bitterly, appreciated fully his great force of character
and commanding ability, which the working people he
loved and passionately served appreciated not at all.
John Swinton, who might have had unlimited wealth
and power and "fame," died in poverty and almost in
obscurity, because he was truly great and uncompromis-
ingly honest, scorning to barter his principles and con-
victions for a gilded cage and a life-lease of pampered
self-indulgence to soften his brain, eat out his heart, and
petrify his soul.
He knew that the masses for whom he did everything,
denied himself everything, and gave up everything, could
never-at least in his life-time-understand or appreciate
him, and this thought harrowed his sensitive soul and
gave him unutterable pain, not on his account but on
theirs. I can still hear him say as he held my hand in
his humble flat in New York, as he put me through a
course of questioning as to how much I could stand
for the sake of labor: "They'll break your heart." When
I answered, "I'll not let 'em," he said, "Bravo!"
And when I went on to say that in the labor struggle
my heart could be broken only by myself and that only
if I was less than true to myself; that I could stand
anything for labor, and that I desired neither office, nor
'honors, nor rewards, and that I was not serving to win.
the applause or gratitude of others but from a sense of
duty to myself, he fairly beamed with joyous approba-
tion and gave me his loving benediction.
It was during the Pullman strike that John Swinton
wrote his great book, "Striking for Life; or Labor's Side
of the Labor Question." This book of five hundred
pages, in Swinton's boldest and most brilliant style, is
especially interesting in the light of to-day's turbulent
and chaotic situation. Many of its pages bear evidence
of clear insight and prophetic vision. The preface of
this volume could have been written but yesterday:
"The times are revolutionary. The energies of man-
kind in our day are immense. There is an extraordinary
activity of the powers of life in our new age. The world

46
EUGENE V. DEBS
seems to be whirling more rapidly than ever before.
Vast changes have been brought about in our genera-
tion; others are in progress; still others are impending.
There is a new spirit abroad and its manifestations are
everywhere.
"The Labor Question is in the front. It is of supreme
importance to all men, and to all women. It is related
directly to the life of the whole people, to their natural
and essential rights, to the welfare of the community, to
popular freedom, and to the public peace."
John Swinton, like his friend, Wendell Phillips, under-
stood the labor question in its deeper significance and
wider aspects; he had a clear grasp of its fundamental
principles and its international scope and character, and
he knew that the labor movement was revolutionary and
that its mission of emancipating the working class from
wage-slavery could be accomplished only by destroying
the system and reorganizing society upon a new economic
foundation. This he makes clear in the following para-
graphs quoted from the same preface:
"The War for the Union'. . . grew out of the Labor
Question, and was waged over it. Shall the working
population of our country or any part of it be held in
slavery? Stupendous sacrifices were then made to secure
the emancipation of the black laborer, and the old chattel
system was overthrown at a price that has not yet been
paid. We had to abolish this system before we could
grapple with any of the other wrongs which must be
done away with.
"Since that time a question of even greater magnitude,
and yet more revolutionary, has been brought to the
front-one which is often summed up in the phrase:
'the rights of labor.' It has not been brought up by any
theorist or agitator, or yet by any group of men or or-
ganization of labor. It has grown out of the forces of
nature and the human mind, out of evils. not to be borne
forever, out of industrial and social wrongs, out of suf-
fering indescribable and aspiration irrepressible. It is
the question of our age and of our country.
It is a
question with which the world is pregnant. Not by all
the enginery of power can it be suppressed-not by
combined capital, or by harsh laws, or by big armies,

JOHN SWINTON: RADICAL EDITOR AND LEADER 47
or by newspaper invective, or by chop logic-not by the
thunders of the Church, or the devices of the State-not
certainly by the order of that puerile part of the com-
munity which is called 'society'-and not even by phil-
anthropic tomfoolery. Futile, also, as a means for its
settlement, are the crude schemes put out by many pur-
blind reformers, or favored, at times, by some of the
organizations of labor. I say the question is one of
stupendous proportions. It is not to be postponed. In
it are the issues of life and death."
To the mind of John Swinton there was nothing in
human affairs equal in importance to the labor question.
He knew that fundamentally it was the struggle of the
whole human race for emancipation; that it em-
braced the principles of democracy and self-gov-
ernment and that if the brotherhood of the race
was ever to be achieved it must be through the triumph
of the labor movement. For more than a quarter of a
century he traveled over the country east and west and
from the Lakes to the Gulf, delivering hundreds of
lectures and speeches in the almost vain hope at that
time of arousing the working class and opening the eyes
of the people to the true meaning of the labor question.
For this he resigned his lucrative editorial employment,
cut off every dollar of his revenue, turned his back
arely on his own class, severed his relations with his
ofessional associates, and grimly faced the future and
ld the truth to a gainsaying world.
Grand old John Swinton! How much he gave, how
tle he received, how well he understood! None knew
ter how to sympathize with the men and women who
ht unflinchingly labor's battles and are equally indif-
rent to flattery or abuse. At the time during the Pull-
n strike when we were being so falsely accused and
venomously maligned by the capitalist press of the
ole country, John Swinton came to the front with
e of the most loyal tributes and glowing eulogies ever
nned by one agitator to another. It is too generous
quote. I had never seen him. He had never seen
e. He knew nothing in my favor. All the had read
as in terms of violent personal denunciation. But he
as not deceived. He clearly grasped the situation and
48
EUGENE V. DEBS
the animus of the personal abuse and detraction. The
very things that made others hate me, commended me to
his most generous consideration. He at once became my
friend and I never had a better. His fine eulogy was
inspired by my imprisonment in a Chicago jail, the same
in which the Haymarket comrades of 1887 were in-
carcerated, my cell being within a few feet of where
these labor heroes were finally hanged. This he in-
cluded in his book, to which he added:
"I am not afraid thus to praise Eugene Victor Debs,
though he is a new figure in the gallery of my statuary.
I praise him, though he be a victim of Grosscup's ruth-
less law; though he has been assailed by Cleveland and
Olney, Pullman and Egan, Schofield and Miles, by the
rapacious corporations, the dastardly plutocracy, the
Sodomite preachers, the Satanic press, and our bribe-
taking Congressmen. I praise him, though he is in
prison."
John Swinton had learned by his own bitter experience
what men and women had to contend with who, in the
service of the robbed and oppressed, were too honest,
to betray their trust, and no arrested or persecuted labor
leader had to solicit his sympathy and support.
"We must stand by our champions all the more," he
wrote, "because of the enemies by whom they are as-
sailed; all the more because every man who takes a be
stand for labor is sure to be pursued with diabolic
malice, to be showered with lies, to be charged with ba
motives, and to be reviled as long as he lives; all th
more because labor is too often untrue to itself or fal
to its defenders; all the more because these defende
are weakened by the skulking of men who ought to
in the ranks and are liable to be stabbed in the back
traitors who lurk is the rear."
When John Swinton crossed the Atlantic he fou
that his fame had preceded him to the old world. Vict
Hugo greeted him as "The Great American Journalist
He was an ardent admirer of Hugo's and on being i
terviewed on his return to America as to the incident
his journey which had given him the most satisfaction
his answer was, "Shaking the hand of the author of 'Le
Miserables.'




JOHN SWINTON: RAD. IL EDITOR AND LEADER 49
He visited Karl Marx and it may be readily imagined
that these two great revolutionary souls found genial
companionship in each other. When Swinton asked
Marx what he saw in the future, the latter buried his
face in his hands for a moment, then raising his head he
answered laconically, "Struggle!"
Swinton and Marx alike saw "struggle" ahead. The
years which have followed have amply vindicated their
prescience. Struggle there has been over all the face of
the earth, increasing steadily in violence and intensity
until today the whole of humanity seems seized with a
madness for bloodshed and destruction that threatens an
upheaval wide as the world and unparalleled in the
world's history.
The lives of both the great American and the great
German had been a fierce, unceasing struggle, a con-
tinuous conflict amidst shifting scenes and changing con-
ditions, and as their suns began to decline and their
powers to wane the years of struggle still stretched out
wearily before them. They had both toiled tirelessly for
little recompense and through stress and storm, through
poverty and hate had fought unflinchingly the good fight ·
and striven to the last to achieve their aims and realize
their ideals.
Both Marx and Swinton are gone but their work re-
mains and the heroic, unselfish example they set will be
a perpetual inspiration to the world. As long as such
men are born the upward struggle of humanity, even at
its bitterest and gloomiest, is infinitely worth the waging.
The Letters of John Swinton in my files, filled with
kindness, with loyalty and greetings of good cheer, are all
characteristic of the noble nature of the man. Long be-
fore he had ever seen me he had given subsantial proof
of his sympathy and support. Under date of July 2nd,
1894, he wrote:
"You can't have time these days to read much of any-
thing, even about yourself; but I must send you a piece
from today's New York Tribune and another from today's
New York World, which you can lay aside now in order
to look at and smile when the racket is over. You can't
imagine the uproar you've raised in the papers here.
Honor and success to you!"

Un


ம்..
EUGENE V. DEBS
50
Three days later he wrote: "You are waging a Na-
poleonic battle amidst the admiration of millions. God
give you the victory for the sake of all mankind.
I wrote to President Cleveland three days ago. Be strong,
Brother Debs."
In a letter dated July 17, 1895, he says: "You do not
seem to have been aware that I was in the prison with
you by day and by night, during the past month. Never
a word have you spoken to me, though you were in my
company. 'Not a mutineer walks handcuffed into jail
but I am handcuffed to him and walk by his side.' I have
not at any time thought you cared for my praises, so I
shall not praise you now. But I believe you are stout of
heart, and I must hope you are not depressed in spirit.
Be strong! I know you will be faithful unto death. I
send you my best love. P. S.-Sunday of this week was
the Anniversary of the Fall of the Bastile."
In a later letter, under date of June 30th, 1897, he wrote
me after learning that the railroad managers had sworn
that the American Railway Union should not be organized
and that their detectives were dogging my footsteps by
day and by night:
"The strength of your faith, the liveliness of your
hopes, the persistency of your valor, the breadth of your
thought, and the energy of your genius fill me with ad-
miration. These things belong to that kind of Amer-
icanism which is ever regenerative.
Life and luck to you!
Greetings from my wife and from
1
Faithfully yours,
i
John Swinton."
When I visited New York after coming into personal
touch with John Swinton, the little visits we had together
were occasions of special enjoyment and delight to me.
He had the reputation of being somewhat brusque in man-
ner, but I never found him so. On the contrary, he was
always genial as sunshine to me and at his home he wal
the very soul of hospitality. He lived modestly with hi
wife, whom he addressed as "Angel" and in whom he had
a most sympathetic and helpful companion in all his
arduous labors and disappointing experiences.


JOHN SWINTON: RADICAL EDITOR AND LEADER • 51
In personal appeareance Swinton was tall, well pro-
portioned and courtly in manner, and one recognized in
him at a glance a distinguished personage. He certainly
looked the man he was. His features were strikingly
clear-cut, his eyes keen and piercing, though kindly, his
hair snow-white, as were also his mustache. and eye-
brows, which set off his fine, smooth brow and pallid
complexion to perfection.
John Swinton's powerful personality was marked in
every line and curve of his finely chiselled features, in
the poise of his handsome head, and in every move-
ment of his virile body. He had no need to be introduced.
He was John Swinton even to the stranger, who passed
him on the crowded city street and turned about hastily
to get another look before he disappeared in the crowd.
The speeches of John Swinton are scholarly in thought,
classical in composition, and contain some of the most
thrilling and eloquent passages to be found in American
oratory. Lack of space prevents adequate quotation, but
I cannot resist incorporating a few characteristic utter-
ances of this eloquent and fearless apostle of the toiling
and enslaved millions:
"Back through the ages every new dispensation, includ-
ing that of the gibbeted Galilean, has penplexed and dis-
mayed the men of the old order, who associated it with
impending calamities and deplorable results. But still we
know, as we look back through time, that the recurring,
transformations have but shown the development of the
hùman race under the operation of invisible law. Does
any simpleton suppose that they have come to an end, or
that he can put a stop to them, or that there is no further
necessity for them?”
"Our Government is in the hands of pirates. All the
power of politics, and of Congress, and of the Administra-
tion is under the control of the moneyed interests. The
'self-evident truths' of the Declaration of Independence
are trampled underfoot. . . . Is Liberty compatible
with the existence of these famished millions and these
overgorged millionaires ?"
"Danger ahead? Of course, there is. Danger is always
ahead when wrong is at hand, and explosions always take

52
EUGENE V. DEBS
place, from time to time, when suffering becomes intol-
erable.
"Crack goes the earthquake, and the Hebrew slaves
stride out of Egypt as Pharaoh sinks in the Red Sea.
"Crack it goes again, and the agrarians of Rome seize
their short swords.
"Crack again, and the serfs of Germany and Hungary
carry terror before them through the peasant wars.
"Crack once more, and the fires of the French Revolu-
tion give dread to monarchs.
"Crack goes the earthquake, here or there, now and
then, again and again, the wide world over. Heedless
are men, after the terror of each crack, till they are stirred
again by the alarm of the next."
A copy of the last issue of "John Swinton's Paper" is
before me as I write. It is dated August 21st and con-
tains his "Farewell," which reads as follows: "To my
many faithful friends and sturdy fellow-workers all over
this broad land, who have stood by me in this paper,
aiding the work it was founded to promote, or cherishing
the principles which it has steadily proclaimed-I now
bid farewell-John Swinton."
How many of the readers of PEARSON'S remember
"Joh Swinton's Paper," published weekly in New York
from 1883 to 1887 and circulated over all the states of
the Union? It was a paper of remarkable ability and
force and by far the best radical paper then in existence,
but it had to succumb at last. It was a menace to Wall
Street and the moneyed interests, and they finally suc-
ceeded in forcing it to the wall.
The Motto of "John Swinton's Paper" was: We are
Preparing the Way for the Establishment of the Natural
Rights of Man; 1, His Right to a Footing on the Earth;
2, His Right to Labor; 3, His Right to the Fruits of His
work."
The last issue of this pioneer publication was an espe-
cially brilliant one and well worthy of preservation as a
souvenir of radical journalism in the United States a
third of a century ago. In this issue innumarble personal
tributes to John Swinton appear, tributes from friends
and readers to his pluck and persistency and to his fildel-


JOHN SWINTON: RADICAL EDITOR and LeadeR 53
ity and devotion to the cause of the people in sinking his
last dollar before succumbing to the enemy. One of these
tributes is from the pen of Gideon J. Tucker, New York
City, and is here reproduced as follows:
"
A Sower Went Forth to Sow"
-Gospel of St. Matthew.
To John Swinton.
He sowed the seed on sterile soil,
Through days and months and years of toil;
Slow was its growth midst rock and weed;
It mattered not-he sowed the seed,
His steady zeal could not be quenched,
Others might quail, he never blenched,
Patient he taught his earnest creed;
Let others reap-he sowed the seed.
To-day it may ignore or spurn—
Some day the world from him shall learn
How wise in thought, how just in deed,
It may become!-he sowed the seed.
!
Yes, he sowed the seed, but alas, how few of the present
generation know that they are reaping, perhaps in opu-
lence, where he sowed in pain and self-denial!
The world owes more, far more to John Swinton than
it knows or perhaps ever can know. He was one of the
real heroes of American history. He lived and labored
wholly for his fellow-men. He struggled bravely with
all the adverse fates and forces that others might be
spared the pains and privations that fell to his lot and
have life richer and more abundant. Aye, he fought as
heroically and unselfishly for humanity as any man that
éver won the crown of martyrdom.


54
EUGENE V. DEBS
Eugene Field: Poet and Humorist
T
WENTY-FOUR years ago, in April, 1893, I first
met Eugene Field. He was then in his forty-third
year, but in spirit and manner seemed more like a
boy of twenty. I never met a man to whom I took
a readier liking. He was full of rollicking humor and the
soul of geniality and kindness. We at once became friends.
Within a few hours after our introduction he brought me
copies of his books, beautifully inscribed, which I still
treasure among my literary possessions.
Eugene Field, born in St. Louis in 1850, was of Puritan
stock, but there was no trace of narrowness or asceticism
in his nature. He loved the world and he mingled freely,
joyously with all sorts and conditions of people. He had
many admirers among the rich, but his heart was with
the common man. Best of all, however, he loved children
and in turn was fairly idolized by them.
·
When Eugene Field left college he was inclined to take.
up the law, but changed his mind. It is fortunate for him
and for the world of letters, that he did not become a
lawyer. He was temperamentally too poetic and imagi-
native to succeed in the legal profession. He was an
excellent mimic and had marked dramatic ability. For
quite a while he had an eye on the stage. In that he would
have succeeded better. But the poetic instinct predom-
inated and he was destined to court the muses and
achieve fame in the literary world.
Eugene Field began his professional career as a par-
agraph writer for a St. Louis paper. In that capacity he
excelled from the start and his pithy, humorous and sar-
castic jottings were copied widely by other papers. From
St. Louis he went to St. Joseph and thence to Kansas
City, where he remained a year and a half engaged in
newspaper work. The lure of the West was fairly upon
him and from Kansas City he found his way to Denver.
This was in the summer of 1881. Denver was just blos-
soming out as a typical western city. The free, easy-


EUGENE FIELD: POET AND HUMORIST
55
going unconventional life of the people of the plains and
mountains appealed to the romantic nature of young Field
and here he began to write the dialect "Western Verse"
which so endeared him to the common people among
whom he had cast his lot, and which soon found its way
into the channels of circulation and introduced the gifted
young author to thousands who had never before heard
his name. It was here that Field indulged to the limit his
propensity for practical joking. The gentlest of beings
himself, he yet enjoyed immensely a practical joke at the
expense of a friend. He laughed uproariously at the
results of his own mischief, which was nearly always of an
innocent and harmless nature. The older residents of
Denver still tell of the pranks of Eugene Field and the
dismay of victims of his capricious plottings.
A friend of Field's who kept a grocery store in Denver
found himself one morning in a plight he did not soon
forget as the result of one of the poet's practical jokes.
It was early in the summer. The first ripe watermelons
were being shipped in from South. An innocent-looking
paragraph in Field's paper announced that his grocer
friend had just received a carload of fine, juicy melons.
and that they would be handed out free of charge at his
door to the colored people of the city. Soon after the
paper appeared the report spread over the city and within.
an hour or two the whole colored population swooped
down upon the unsuspecting grocer and demanded the
ripe, juicy melons which had been promised them.
The mining camps of Colorado, nestling far up in the
canons and hugging the rugged sides of the Rocky Moun-
tains, were a source of inexpressible delight and inspira-
tion to Eugene Field. He loved the plain, honest, sturdy
folk that made up the primitive communities a few dec-
ades ago. He loved the large-hearted, care-free, happy-
go-lucky prospectors and miners. They were kind and
generous and brave, and in their cabins there was peace
and content. There was little law in the camp, but as a
rule the square deal and even-handed justice prevailed.
The cowardly practice of carrying concealed weapons was
unknown. Every man had his six-shooter on his hip in
full view. Short shrift was made of the crook and thief,
and the "bad man" was not long in coming to his own.

56
EUGENE V. DEBS
.
The peace of the community automatically kept itself-
and life in a rough-and-ready gold camp was more secure
and justice more swift and certain than in New York City,
with its army of police and its almost countless courts and
churches.
The gold and silver camps as they then existed are no
more and the free and jocund life of that day has practi-
cally disappeared. "Civilization" has closed in on the
rugged mountain communities which knew neither riches
or poverty, but respected a man for what he was-com-
munities composed of the "black sheep" of the families
back in the states who had the spirit of adventure and
were not satisfied to stay on the old farms cultivated by
their grandfathers; who had little polish of manner and
none of the artificial graces of conventional society, but
instead had abundance of the milk of kindness in their
breasts, boundless love and sympathy for their fellows,
and a whole-hearted generosity that was limited only by
the resources at their command.
In these early camps in the Rocky Mountains there
were saloons and gambling houses and dance halls galore
but there was no city hall, no police court, no court house,
and no churches. Drinking there was, to be sure, but
drunkenness was exeptional. The rarest sort of democracy
prevailed. Men were not only their brothers' keepers but
their brothers' brother and lover. The camp was a family.
Every man was trusted unless and until he forfeited the
confidence of his fellows and then he was promptly given
his passport or brought to more summary justice.
There was something wondrously stimulating about the
primitive mountain settlements and about the pinoneers
and prospectors who flocked there in quest of the golden
fleece. They were above and beyond the prosaic and
deadening influences of the conventional and cramped
existence they had left behind them. They were far up in
the canons and mountains fastnesses, surrounded by the
snow-capped peaks. The brooks and streams, cool and
clear and sparkling, gushed from the earth beneath their
feet. The pure, crisp and vitalizing air filled them with
energy and enthusiasm. For once indeed these adven-
turous spirits breathed the air of freedom, and they were
happy and content. There was not a fine residence in the


EUGENE FIELD: POET AND HUMORIST
57
camp, nor a poorhouse nor a hungry man, woman or
child. Every mother's son of these hardy mountaineers
would have felt himself personally disgraced if an animal,
to say nothing of a human being, had been found suffering
for the wait of food or shelter. They were rough-spoken,
blunt in manner, but tender-hearted as children. They
did not give alms to strangers but gave themselves instead.
They were human without veneer, and their rugged
honesty had the gleam of the gold they dug from the
mines. Often, very often was I their guest, sat in their
cabins and enjoyed their warmth and hospitality; and
readily therefore can I appreciate the love inspired by such
men and such scenes and surroundings in the breast af a
nature-lover and humanitarian such as Eugene Field.
The old camp is gone and only memory remains. They
who know that free, unretsrained, joyous life of a genera-
tion ago may regret its passing, but the change was inev-
itable. Civilization now has sway in the regions once
deemed inaccessible to its conquering march. Law and
order have superseded the six-shooter and the slip-noose.
-courts and churches now abound, and so also do jails
and poorhouses, tramps and vagabonds, beggars and crim-
imals, the same as in all other civilized communities.
Eugene Field was never more at home than among
these sturdy pioneers who opened the treasure chambers
of the Rocky Mountains and scattered their gleaming
secrets broadcast over the continent. They were after his
own heart and he rejoiced like the big boy he was, in
having found his way to the Golden West and in living
for once among God's own people. No wonder the change
came upon him like a revelation and attuned his muse to
the sweet minstrelsy that was soon to carry his name back
to the Hampshire Hills where he had spent his childhood
days and echo his fame to the remotest parts of the
country.
The "Red Hoss Mountain" and "Casey's Table D'Hote"
are fondly celebrated by the poet who knew them in the
days of their glory and cherished the happy scenes they
called among his most treasured memories:

Oh, them days on Red Hoss Mountain, when the skies.
wuz fair 'nd blue,


58
EUGENE V. DEBS
When the money flowed like likker, 'nd the folks wuz
brave 'nd true!
When the nights wuz crisp 'nd balmy, 'nd the camp wuz
all astir.
With the joints all throwed wide open 'nd no sheriff to-
demur!
Oh, them times on Red Hoss Mountain in the Rockies fur
away,-
There's no sich place nor times like them as I kin find
today!
What though the camp hez busted? I seem to see it
still
A-lyin' like it loved it, on that big 'nd warty hill;
- And I feel a sort of yearnin' 'nd a chokin' in my throat
When I think of Red Hoss Mountain 'nd of Casey's
tabble dote!"
Casey, the proprietor of the new restaurant in which
the "tabble dote" was introduced for the first time to the
simple-minded denizens of Red Hoss Mountain, was a
typical character in those days and Eugene Field drew his
picture with rare felicity and fidelity:
"This Casey wuz an Irishman,-you'd know it by hi
hils
name
And by the facial features appertainin' to the same,
He'd lived in many places 'nd had done a thousand things,
From the noble art of actin' to the work of dealin' kings.
"The bar wuz long 'nd rangey with a mirrer on the shelf
'Nd a pistol, so that Casey, when required, could help
himself;
Down underneath there wus a row of bottled beer 'nd
wine.
'Nd Kag of Burbun whiskey of the run of '59;
Upon the walls wuz pictures of hosses 'nd of girls,—
Not much on dress perhaps, but strong on records 'nd
on curls!
The which had been identified with Casey in the Dast,
The hoss 'nd the girls, I mean,-and both was righ
fast!
But all these fine attractions wuz of precious little no
By the side of what wuz offered at Casey's tabble dote



EUGENE FIELD: POET AND HUMORIST
59
"The very recollection of them puddin's 'nd them pies
Brings a yearnin' to my buzzum 'nd the water to my eyes."
Truly did the poet lament the passing of his old com-
rades of the mountain mining camps, and in all the sweet
and sentimental tributes they evoked from his sympathetic
pen he poured out his love freely to their hallowed mem-
ory. He had shared their homely hospitality and been
deeply touched by their simple faith and their whole-
hearted loyalty and devotion to their fellow men. -How
could he, the great-hearted, generous, sentimental Field,
fail to love these homely, honest, trusting souls, and cel-
ebrate their simple annals in immortal song!
If the spirit ears of the pioneers who sleep way out
yonder on "Red Hoss Mountain" are attuned to earthly
benedictions their hearts will be touched indeed and the
mist will come into their eyes as they listen to the offering,
tender, tremulous and pathetic, from their old friend:
"And you, O cherished brother, a-sleepin' way out west
With Red Hoss Mountain huggin' you close to its lovin'
breast,-
Oh, do you dream in your last dream of how we use to do,
Of how we worked our little claims together, me 'nd you?
Why, when I saw you last a smile wuz restin' on your
face,
Like you wuz glad to sleep forever in that lonely place;
And so you wuz, 'nd I'd be too, if I wuz sleepin' so.
But, bein' how a brother's love ain't for the world to
know,
Whenever I've this heartache 'nd this chokin' in my
throat,
I lay it all to thinkin' of Casey's tabble dote."
In 1883, when Eugene Field was in his thirty-third, he
was called from Denver to Chicago by a tempting offer
from the Daily News, with which paper and the Daily
Record, by the same publisher, he was connected during
the remainder of his brief life. His work as a writer and
s fame as a poet had long been recognized. His news-
aper writings and caught the public eye before and he
as widely quoted and copied. At Chicago he became the

60
EUGENE V. DEBS
author of the famous column of "Sharps and Flats," which
came to be recognized as the spiciest and most attractive
feature of the paper and was eagerly followed by thou-
sands of readers. In this column he commented in prose
and verse upon current events and he gave free reign to
his exuberant fancy. He had a rare faculty for putting a
simple thought into a pungent paragraph. His wit was
keen and subtle and his humor spontaneous and good-
natured. His pen was "sharp as Ithuriel's spear," but
never envenomed. He knew no malice. He had the heart
of a child and once when by chance he stepped upon a
little chick, he wept with pain and sorrow.
During the eleven years he spent in newspaper work in
Chicago, Field was never idle. The scope of his literary
work was broadened and his pen was ever active. His
more serious poems and prose writings began now to
appear. He haunted the bookstalls for rare old columes
and became a close student of the classics. To him a rare
old book was the choicest bit of luxury. He turned its
musty pages with reverent hands and fondled it as a thing
of life.
The beautiful lullabies that rippled from Field's sweet
and sympathetic soul gave the truest insight to his noble
character. He loved with incomparable tenderness not
only his own children but the children of all the world.
To him a child, any child, was a delight and an inspiration.
His hearty "hello" was given to every youngster he passed
upon the street. He would desert almost any gathering
of grown-up people to romp and play with the little folks.
Once he came to Terre Haute with George W. Cable,
the Southern novelist, with whom he was then associated
on the Lyceum platform. The opera house was crowded.
Field at once captured the audience and each of his num-
bers brought him enthusiastic applause. With a child's
artless simplicity he repeated his bits of charming child-
hood rhyme and won his way to the hearts of the people.
He had wonderful dramatic resources and in his pathetic
passages his audience was moved to tears. The tender,
touching lines in "Father's Way" and "To My Mother
in which the poet paid loving tribute to his parents, wer
rendered with such deep feeling that only sobs broke th
solemn silence of the audience.


EUGENE FIELD: POET AND HUMORIST
61
At the close of the entertainment Field, who was my
guest, was invited to the home of a friend and here oc-
curred an incident that revealed his passionate love for
children, of whom a number were in attendance. After a
time the little folks withdrew to another room to seek their
own enjoyment. Not long afterwards, Field also dis-
appeared. The reason soon became apparent. Peals of
laughter issued from the adjoinig room. Hilarity was
evidently at high tide in the child-world. And no wonder.
Field had gotten among them and was both ring-master
and clown of the show, and when the door was opened he
was found minus his dress coat, down on the floor on all
fours, and cutting such antics as made the little folks
scream with delight.
Eugene Field had a strong personal attachment for
James Whitcomb Riley. One day he said to me: "Riley
is too m est. He is blissfully unconscious of his high
standing in the literary world. He has no equal in his
line and need not hesitate to measure up with the best of
the literary lights in the cultured East." Field and Riley
and Bill Nye were a great team when they were together.
Never before nor since has such a unique combination
appeared before the American people. Each was the
master of his art and their wits were equally matched and
blended to perfection.
Field had only the kindest words for his associates.
Never a trace of jealousy of a rival in the bid for popular
favor. Generous to a fault, he rejoiced whole-hearted in
the applause that came to those associated with him. He
was big and broad and chivalrous in the real sense, and no
degrading envy ever darkened the doorway to his lofty
soul.
He was as generous with his poetic gifts as he was im-
providen, in his financial affairs. He had absolutely no
sense of money values, but the highest conception of moral
obligation to his fellow-men, especially to those less for-
tunate than himself, who looked to him for sympathy or
for some act of more substantial kindness. It was not in
him to say "no" to an appeal for aid, and the only trouble,
was that his pockets were chronically empty and he never
ad money enough by half to see him through.
Unlike most gifted people he did not have to be coaxed

62
EUGENE V. Debs
to entertain his friends and the friends of his friends. He
took genuine delight in responding to the requests made
upon him. One night we were invited out together. He
was the idol of the gathering, but did not seem to realize
it. His modesty was even greater than his genius. All
evening and until late at night he entertained his delighted
admirers. To each request he responded graciously "with
pleasure." To each guest he rendered cheerfully his or
her "favorite" selection as if he himself receiving instead.
of dispensing the evening's favors.
The love and loyalty of Eugene Field for his friends
cannot be told in words. When you clasped his hand you
felt his generous heart beat, and when you looked into his
eyes you saw his great soul revealed.
During the troublous times of the Pullman strike in
1894, I came to know 'Gene Field as one of the truest
friends and noblest men. My arrest had been decreed and
I was soon to be lodged in Cook County jail. Eugene
Field heard of it and at once started out to find me. Fail-
ing in this, he went to my hotel and left a note in my box
saying that I would soon need a friend and that he wanted
to be that friend. It was in that dark day, that trying
hour, when bitter hate had sway and friends were not too
numerous, that Eugene Field proved himself a real ma
and a true friend. Some of his rich admirers were amazed
that he should have anything to do with a "common crim-
inal," but what he said to them in answer they did not
repeat to others.
In the summer following I was at Woodstock and here
there came to me the last message I received from Eugene
Field. In a characteristic note he wrote me jokingly:
"Now that you are settled in your summer quarters I shall
soon be out to see you." But the intended visit was not to
be. I never saw Field again. He went to bed soon after
the message was written and fell asleep to awake no more,
It was a terrible blow to his family and friends, and when
the sad news came to me I was pained and shocked beyond
expression.
When the call of the invisible summoner came Eugene
Field was but forty-four; he was still in the flush of his
splendid young manhood. His greater work, the work fo
which he was now so eminently fitted and which shout.


Eugene Field: POET AND HUMORIST
63
add so immeasurable to his fame, still lay before him. But
the end came with startling suddenness and the beloved
poet and friend passed to his reward "while the shadows
still were falling toward the west."
The life of Eugene Field was cut off in its prime, but he
lived long enough to render such precious service to his
fellow-men that his work and worth will be cherished and
his memory honored by coming generations.
1

INTRODUCTION
TABLE OF CONTENTS
RILEY THE HOOSIER.
WENDELL PHILLIPS
RECOLLECTIONS OF INGERSOLL.
JOHN SWINTON
EUGENE Field
+
3
4
7-20
•
21-31
.32-
44-
54-63
APP
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