The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1894-06-06
A Victory of EIoquence.

Twice or three times before April,
WENDELL Phillips gave discourses in
the Music Hall, one section of the mob
dancing attendance outside, and an
other inside interrupting and hooting.
There came at last the Sunday which
followed Fort Sumter, when he had to
decide what attitude he would take 10
the war for that Union which all his
life he had assailed. He had preached
disunion all the winter in terms, and
1t was no light matter to recall or re-
cant his doctrine. True, the Union
now meant freedom and not slavery,
and the North had all at once flung off
It's chains, but Phillips had never been
man to follow because others showed
the way. The audience which as
sembled in the Music Hall on the morn
ing of Sunday, April 81, 1861, found the
platform and desk and walls and gal
leries hung with the American flag. 1t
was Charles Follen who had conceived
this idea, and Phillips, on being asked
whether he objected, answered: "As
many flags as you like, am going to
speak for the flag" The papers an
nounced that he was to retract his opin-
ions. ono, not one of them," said
Phillips in almost his first sentence. "I
need them all, every word have
spoken this winter, every act of twenty
five gears of my life, to make the well
come l give this war hearty and hot.
Civil war is a momentous evil. 1t
needs the soundest, the most solemn
justification. l rejoice before God to-
day for every word have spoken coun-
selling peace. But rejoice more pro-
foundly still that now, for the first
time in my antislavery life, speak be-
meath the stars and stripes, and well
come the tread of Massachusetts men
marshaled for war"
1t was Sunday morning, but the vast
audience rose to their feet and cheered
long. The Sixth Massachusetts, Regi-
ment, only two days before, had fought
its way through Baltimore. That is
enough to explain everything. Phillips,
the most hated man in the state, became
the idol of the hour. The Music Hall
rang with cheers that morning, not
once, nor twice, but almost every mo-
ment while his speech lasted. 1t was a
scene possible only in such crisis, at
the first great uprising of great people,
in the presence of an orator capable of
expressing in words of unmatched elo-
quence the feeling which burned in
every heart.
emo matter what the past has been
or said, to-day the slave asks God for
sight of this banner, and counts it the
pledge of his redemption"
The hall and its approaches and the
adjacent streets were filled with the
same multitudes, of whom no small
part, four months earlier, had done
their best to tear the orator to pieces.
These were the men who now cheered
him. They came to him when his
speech ended. They grasped his hand.
They owned themselves enemies who
had become friends. They offered him
their homage. They surrounded him as
he left the hall, They attended him as
he made his way through the throng
outside, almost as slowly as before.
The streets were thronged now as then,
and thrOnged with the men who would
have burned him then and adored him
now. Perhaps never had any man
passed more suddenly through more
marvellous change of position and of
popular feeling. His return from the
Music Hall to Essex street was tri-
umphal march. 1t was the atonement
which Boston offered to the great citi-
zen whom she had so long misunder-
stood and reviled. 1t was the crown of
Phillips anti slavery life--George W.
Smalleq, in Harper'S Magazine.