A large number, and probably a majority of the large congregation which soon gathered around John Chambers, were people from Scotland or Scottish-Ireland, and, like most of this sturdy race, were very fond of both religion and whiskey. The customs of society in the thirties made the social glass very frequent. The chief decoration of the sideboard was usually a decanter and glasses. Even a funeral was not considered complete in all its appointments, unless there was plenty of liquor drunk before the corpse was taken out of the house, much more being consumed when the company came back.
From the very first, the young pastor took a firm stand against indulgence in any intoxicating liquor, and spoke his mind most freely, in favor not only of temperance but also of total abstinence. He determined to use his oratorical talents in arousing public sentiment against the drinking habits of his day, and he presided over the first public temperance meeting held in Philadelphia. He went further. He gave notice from his pulpit that he should enter no house where liquors were provided, not even to hold services over the dead.
This announcement made a tremendous sensation, and no doubt some thought that the foundations of society were endangered. Soon after this ultimatum, the pastor repaired to a house to conduct services over the dead, and found that liquors were being served. Instantly going out doors, he remained standing in a drenching rain, refusing to officiate, until the corpse had been brought to him.
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Throughout his long ministry, he continued this work, seeking by sermons, addresses, prayers, the taking of pledges, the assistance of reformed inebriates, the training of young men, and by every other lawful means to promote temperance and total abstinence. Not always abstemious in his language, he made bitter enemies among the liquor dealers, but although of superb physical frame and excellent muscular power he used no physical force or carnal methods of defence, with possibly one exception. Once a publican seized him by the collar, as he was walking along the street, and swore vociferously at him. Pretty soon he had abused his victim so exhaustively, that he was himself out of breath. At the end of this verbal discharge, Mr. Chambers who had listened quietly, lifted his hat, thanked him, said "good morning," and went his way. In 1849 he was introduced to an audience as "the war-horse of the temperance cause." Ever after this he was known as "the war-horse." One elder left his church on this liquor issue.
It began to look as if an independent church (which is very far from being a Congregational Church) was, as some had predicted, "anything that John Chambers chose to make it." Certainly under the dominating personality of so bold and yet so tender a soldier of Christ, the church quickly rose to be one of the most aggressive in the city of Penn.
After ten or fifteen years of service, when his congregation had increased and lads and lassies were multiplied, he organized in 1840 the Youth's Temperance Society. It was made up of young people. Once a month or every two months, alternating with the Missionary Society, the afternoon Sunday School service took the form of a temperance meeting; at which, besides prayer and singing, addresses were made by speakers, either from the congregation or[55] without. There were also occasionally recitations, but the crowning event of the year, for which preparations were made often weeks in advance, was the anniversary. This was held on the evening of Washington's Birthday, February 22d, either in the church edifice or at Concert Hall on Chestnut Street, which is now occupied by the Public Library.
Exquisitely lovely in memory rises the scene, when after duly committing to memory and practicing, cutting down to the right length and repeatedly rehearsing the speeches, the dialogues and the musical parts, the boys and the girls, in a glow of excitement, gathered in the rooms below the stage. The little maidens in their best clothes and most bewitching adornments in hair and dress and slippers, seemed to me most radiantly lovely. The boys who were to be speakers had on their coats a rosette of quilled ribbon, in the center of which was a tinsel star, from which gushed forth a cataract of red, white, and blue satin pendants or streamers. How gay and happy we all were! How heaven-like it all appeared! Except for the thumping of one's heart under his ribs, it seemed positive rapture to hear one's name announced by the superintendent, Aaron H. Burtis—that superb re-incarnation, as we thought, of George Washington. To make one's bow before a thousand human beings, to speak his piece with high pulse and magnetic thrills, were delights that filled a few triumphant moments. Stirring are the memories of the genial pastor, ever ready to cheer the boys, the portly form of Robert Luther, the happy faces of John Yard, Francis Newland, Daniel Steinmetz and Rudolph S. Walton, and the younger but constantly efficient Robert H. Hinckley, Jr. The Youth's Temperance Society flourished until the close of Mr. Chambers' ministry. Although all of the lads trained under John Chambers did[56] not as they grew up, become Prohibitionists, yet a small army of good citizens, earnest in temperance reform, owe their strength of conviction to their noble pastor.
In this temperance work as in his preaching, and his attacks on evil of any sort John Chambers was as bold as a lion. He spent much time and travelled to many places in order to take part in temperance meetings and encourage the workers. In Neil Dow's reminiscences, page 416, is an account of a great temperance meeting in New York on February 19th, 1852, at which the Philadelphia pastor was present. Dr. Crowell tells of another held at Chester, Pa. Dr. A. A. Willetts and Dr. Theodore Cuyler were often with the "War Horse" in his campaigns.
On one occasion when a barkeeper repeatedly sold liquor to one who was near and dear to the pastor and already a victim to physical decay and disease, induced by his drinking habits, Mr. Chambers went into the saloon, stated the exact case to the barkeeper and warned him not to sell any more liquor to the patient. Escaping from his nurse, the wretched man entered the saloon, again procured liquor and became decidedly worse. Finding what had been done, Mr. Chambers went to the barkeeper in fiery anger and said: "Didn't I warn you not to sell liquor to ——?" Then seizing him by his shoulders, he gave the publican a vigorous shaking, and again warned him, threatening a severe penalty. The barkeeper was so mightily impressed, that he is said to have sold no more to the patient.
During all these early years, Mr. Chambers kept his young men busy in active evangelical work, especially in the holding of neighborhood prayer meetings on what were then the outskirts of the city. In 1875, Rev. J. J. Baker, pastor of a Baptist Church at Navesink, N. J., testified at the jubilee meeting to the intense activity of the young men[57] of the church, with which he had united in 1829. Four whom he named, Summers, Burnham, Hunterson, and Town entered the ministry. He told of the zeal and activity of elders Hibbert and Arrison. "The young men of that time were interested in two prayer meetings, one held in the 'old frame,' as it was called—a barn down town, out of which effort grew 'The Cedar Street Presbyterian Church.' The other prayer meeting was held in 'The Girard School House,' out of which grew two churches, one Lutheran and one Baptist."
John Chambers was also a rigid Sabbatarian, and in this, it was not difficult to find an enthusiastic following, for main in his congregation, who remembered the strictness and severity of sabbath-keeping in the old countries, warmly seconded his efforts to train the young people after their ideas of how the Lord's day should be kept in America. Doubtless in the majority of the thousands of this Israel, the usual custom was to have baths, washings, the polishing of boots, and the preparation of outer clothing done on Saturday; but a still grander triumph was won by the new pastor and a precedent set for fifty years to come. Sunday funerals had been the rule, even to occasional disgusting excesses, both in prolonging the preservation by "icing" the corpse, and in the intemperate feasting and drinking after the return of the "mourners"—often a very mixed company.
John Chambers saw the folly and the wickedness of unnecessary Sunday funerals. He exposed their true inwardness and refused to attend them. This, of course, angered some of his people, and a few left the church. But how could they stay away? Out of love to Christ and for the good of the working man and of horses, John Chambers had acted. His motives were pure. He went after his offended breth[58]ren and won them back. So the peacemaker, true child of God, led his flock—so well indeed that "his boys", when pastors, had to do the same thing. They couldn't help it. History repeated itself. It was first firmness in the pulpit, then offense, next fair scripture argument and personal appeal, followed by reconciliation, with the result that God and His Sabbath were honored. It was God's pathetic appeal with Jonah over again—"and also much cattle." Even a horse should rest on Sunday. The fullness of energy could thus be given to divine worship and to the complete enjoyment of a day, so different from all the other six days.
The Sabbath, as I remember it in church and home, was a rubric on our week's page. The normal family in the Chambers church, of which ours was one, were all ready at home on Sunday morning so as to be punctual at church. After a good breakfast, including the traditional "Dutch cake and coffee" for the elders and grownups, and plenty of the same sweet and nourishing food, saving the Mocha, for the young folks, we started off from home so as to be at Sunday school a few minutes before nine o'clock. The session lasted until quarter past ten, which gave ample time for the breaking up and dismissing of the classes, the social greetings of friends, and a comfortable interval for getting into the larger auditorium above, where service began punctually at 10:30.
The Sunday school had been started as a novelty in the days of the old Thirteenth Street Church by the pastor shortly after his coming to Philadelphia. Although I do not remember that he ever taught a class himself, or ever heard of his doing so, yet there was one feature of his connection with and interest in the Sunday School which has been to me and to many an inspiration for life. Not long after the preliminary devotional exercises were over, our[59] handsome leader, of stately port and mien, appeared on the scene. Going to each class he shook hands heartily with each and every teacher, and often saluted, or in some way noticed, the children of the class, speaking a pleasant word, or inquiring after sister or brother, parent or relative. Often to their delight he called the pupils by their first names, for he was able to do this. Both teachers and scholars would look for the appearing of this grand man as regularly as they awaited the sunlight. The pastor kept ever in vital touch with the Sunday School, generally remaining until near the time for his engagement upstairs. Thus he inaugurated a custom which was life-long and inspiring, and which many another active pastor has followed in true apostolical succession.
Would my readers wish to have a specimen of John Chambers's preaching even in his early days? To do this by presenting simply ink and paper is not to reveal "thoughts that breathe and words that burn". It is simply to point to a pressed flower, bleached of its tints and with all its perfume exhaled, for the sermon was the man himself. Nevertheless, a faded and time-stained pamphlet of fifteen pages, entitled "Sermon by the Rev. Mr. John Chambers, delivered at the Presbyterian Church in Thirteenth Street, Philadelphia, on the evening of December 2, 1827", when Universalism was then new and in the air, from these words, "Ye shall not surely die", gives some idea of the general style and quality of the young preacher. The discourse was "taken in shorthand by M. T. C. Gould, Stenographer".
Let us in imagination take our seat in the little brick church among his audience and listen to the discourse. Even the stenographer, owing to the crowd, was, as he says, in "a very unfavorable position for hearing." But who could not hear such a voice?
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The sermon is a vigorous setting forth of religion in the genuine old-fashioned style, in a torrent of emotional and not particularly logical oratory. It is an assault upon the notions of those "who would persuade you that the idea of future punishment is only the visionary dream of fanatics". The especial reference is to "those emissaries who are so industriously engaged in seeking to destroy the souls of men: they are laboring by all the ingenuity of the arch fiend himself, who first presented the forbidden fruit under such bewitching charms".
The new pastor believes that this system "leads to the destruction of all morality and religion". By him the Eden narrative is read as a literal fact. The young orator quotes from Montesquieu, Lord Bolingbroke (though the reporter could not catch either the point or the words) and Hume, by which he would prove that "this system leads to the destruction of civil society and civil government". Warming to his theme, he declares that "all vice is the immediate offspring of the dogmas of Universalism.... The doctrine of universal salvation leads to all the vices and abominations under heaven". Reference is made to the fact that "New York tells a mournful tale in consequence of this doctrine"—the allusion being to a recent duel between a citizen of New York and a citizen of Philadelphia. The preacher even declares that "a man holding such sentiments should never be entrusted with any civil office".[7]
[7] Was this the duel of Midshipman Hunter and the brilliant young Philadelphia lawyer, Miller, the latter losing his life and the former becoming the famous "Alvarado" Hunter told of in the life of Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry, (Boston, 1887) p. 239?
Against the background of "fire and brimstone and an horrible tempest upon the wicked and ungodly" he pressed the invitation to come to "the Redeeming Saviour, the[61] Divine Saviour, the Glorified Saviour". The eloquent preacher closes his discourse, which is from beginning to end directed to the conscience, with a good, warm, direct appeal to his hearers for personal decision.
Enough of proof is here given that from the first, even to the last year, if not the latest moment of his life, John Chambers never lost sight of the needy, sinful, human soul, and that he always closed with a tender and affectionate personal appeal. Men might be as steel against his logic, but their hearts melted under his winning importunity.
One great landmark in John Chambers's life was his visit to Europe in 1830. His excessive labors and long-continued use of his voice in public discourse compelled him to cease both preaching and pastoral work. As he said in 1875:
"In the year 1830 I lost my voice so that I could not have been heard twenty paces from where I am now if you had given me the world. My physician ordered me away and I was gone fourteen months. When the announcement was made to my brethren that I had to go they instantly made arrangements. They put into my purse twenty-five hundred dollars, and into the hand of my dear friend and brother, Rev. Dr. Ludlow, the father of Judge Ludlow, one thousand dollars to preach on the Sabbath for one year, making thirty-five hundred dollars down at once. It was a noble and generous act on their part".
Such generosity was as surprising to the young pastor as it was creditable to the people themselves. To see the great ocean and the Old World at a time of the fullness of his manly vigor and professional success, travelling in a first-class steamer, compelled contrast with his first crossing of the ocean as a helpless baby and with a father who was an exile and political refugee. In England he was so fortunate as to see the royal maiden who had just been in 1830 made[62] heiress presumptive to the Crown on the accession of William IV. Possibly it was at this time that he made the acquaintance of Richard Vaux, then secretary of the American legation, whom I remember well in his later life as a prominent Democratic politician and mayor of the city of Philadelphia. With his long, flowing, curled hair,—pronounced dress and astonishing necktie, Mr. Vaux was a picturesque figure in the Quaker City. He often boasted of having danced with the lady who became Queen Victoria, though this was before she assumed the crown on June 28th, 1838. While in Scotland Mr. Chambers visited the Free Mason's lodges and enjoyed the mysteries of the Scottish rite. In Ireland he visited his native place, Stewartstown, the house in which he was born, and the prison in which his father had been incarcerated and from which he escaped. He was absent in all fourteen months, and came back refreshed in body and enlarged in mind.
In physical righteousness John Chambers stood before his boys and young men as an inspiring exemplar. He neither "drank, chewed, smoked, or swore." For fifty years he put to confusion those who preached the necessity or justified the use of alcohol or tobacco. Over six feet high, in superb health and vigor, always invitingly clean in person, he reinforced every day the teaching of good fathers and mothers who strove to lead their sons to noble manhood.