Strategies of Sobriety
Strategies of Sobriety: The Antebellum Temperance Movement
Introduction
Excessive drinking has a long history in the United States, and throughout the nation’s history groups have organized to encourage people to give up their bad habit. The best known anti-alcohol effort is Prohibition, the time in the 1920s when the Constitution was amended to outlaw alcohol. But the battle against the alcohol began many years earlier.
In the antebellum period, the time before the Civil War, a wave of social reforms swept the country, buoyed by a sense that Americans could become perfect—if only they would give up their sinful ways. Reformers faced a serious challenge, however: breaking a bad is hard to do.
We know this from experience today. Every year millions of Americans make a New Year’s resolution—to lose weight, stop smoking, exercise more, spend more time with family, or take up a new hobby. How long do the resolutions last?
Changing a society’s behavior is even harder. At this moment myriad campaigns are under way to get people to change. As college students may remember the anti-drug campaign DARE from high school and see around you movements to get you to recycle more and use less carbon, to say no to drugs and bullying and texting while driving, to fight excessive drinking.
These are modern problems, but countering them runs into the same basic question faced by the temperance reformers of the nineteenth century: how do you get people to break a bad habit?
Historical Background
Antebellum Americans drank an astonishing amount of alcohol: more than five gallons per capita in 1830, according to one historian. And that only counted “spirits,” hard liquors such as rum, whiskey, gin, and brandy that were typically forty-five per cent alcohol by volume. Americans also drank some wine, a little beer, and a lot of hard cider.
The five gallon figure is also a “per capita” measurement, meaning that it includes not only men but women and children as well. Since mercifully few 3-year-olds consume whiskey, the amount drunk by the average man was even higher.
In the 1820s the American Temperance Society estimated that the American population of 3 million men drank 60 million gallons of spirits annually—that is twenty gallons a year for each man or about 4½ shots a day, every day of the year.
Why did antebellum Americans drink so much? It was a part of the culture and perfectly acceptable to drink throughout the day.
In 1839 Fredrick Marryat, a British visitor to the United States, remarked on the drinking habits of his hosts. “I am sure the Americans can fix nothing, without a drink,” he wrote. “If you meet, you drink; if you part, you drink; if you make acquaintance, you drink; if you close a bargain, you drink; they quarrel in their drink, and they make it up with a drink. They drink, because it is hot; they drink, because it is cold. If successful in elections, they drink and rejoice; if not, they drink and swear;—they begin to drink early in the morning, they leave off late at night; they commence it early in life, and they continue it, until they drop down into the grave.”
All that drinking resulted in widespread social problems: poor health, poverty, broken families and broken lives. In response to the damage wrought by rampant drinking, Americans began to devise ways to resist the lure of the bottle by forming groups dedicated to reform. At first they were local, the effort of small communities. But the movement quickly spread across the nation.
Temperance advocates shared a common goal—to fight the scourge of alcohol—but with so many adherents the temperance movement was naturally diverse, and many questions remained.
Should they achieve their goal through persuasion or coercion? If persuasion, what was the best way win hearts and minds? Should they present hard facts and figures of the damage done by drinking? Or should they scare people with the damage and degradation wrought by drinking? Or inspire with the fruits of sobriety and clean living? Was gradual improvement acceptable? Or must drinkers quit cold turkey? These are the questions temperance reformers, like many social reformers, grappled with.
Sources
- Nathaniel Currier, The Drunkards Progress. From the First Glass to the Grave, 1846
The image below is drawn from a lithograph, a kind of cheap mass printing common in the nineteenth century. It tells the story of a young man who takes an innocent first drink. The steps read: “Step 1: A glass with a friend.” “Step 2: A glass to keep the cold out.” “Step 3: A glass too much.” “Step 4: Drunk and riotous.” “Step 5: The summitt attained. Jolly companions. A confirmed drunkard.” “Step 6: Poverty and Disease.” “Step 7: Forsaken by Friends.” “Step 8: Desperation and crime.” “Step 9: Death by suicide.”
- Nathaniel Currier, The Fruits of Temperance, 1848
This image, also drawn from a lithograph, tells a different kind of story: what happens to a young man who has rejected alcohol. The caption reads: “Behold the son of Temperance, with buoyant hear and step, returning to his home, the partner of his bosom looks up and smiles his welcome.—his children fly to meet him, their little arms embrace him, and with lip and heart they bless him.”
- Nathaniel Currier, Temperance and the Bible, c. 1835-1836
Another image from a Currier lithograph tells a yet another story of a young man’s encounter with the bottle. This image is the third in a series of four. The first image shows an honest workingman named Henry Brown being persuaded by his friend to go “make a merry night of it” over the objections of his wife and children.
The second image shows the results of Brown’s night out: he has gone drinking again and again, leaving his family impoverished. A kindly minister visits their now dilapidated home and reads the Bible aloud while a scruffy Brown sleeps off a hangover.
The third image, below, is captioned: “The words of the Sacred volume touch the heart of Brown, who, waiting the departure of the Minister, a feeling a shame for being seen in his present condition, having passed across his mind, jumps up & taking the Bible the minister had left, swears, upon the Book of Salvation, to reform and lead a new life. His wife and children, overpowered by the joyful event, praise Heaven that THE WORD has already borne fruit.”
- Benjamin Rush, “A Moral and Physical Thermometer,” 1790.
A signer of the Declaration of Independence, Benjamin Rush was a prominent politician and doctor in Philadelphia. In his work examining the effects of alcohol, he classified the types of behavior likely to accompany different kinds of drink. Drinks with little alcohol, such as wine or “small beer,” had benign or even positive effects, he argued, while stronger drinks, especially those with rum, led to sickness in mind, body, and morals. This diagram was widely reprinted in the antebellum period.
- Temperance Pledge of William T. Coggeshall, 1845
Temperance advocates often encouraged people to make public their opposition to drinking. Standing before their friends and neighbors, people would “take the pledge”; that is, vow never to drink in the future. The pledge taker would then receive a document testifying to their life-changing promise.
- James Root, Selection from The Horrors of Delirium Tremens, 1844
Delirium tremens is a form of alcohol withdrawal. As with other drugs, when alcohol users stop delivering their bodies the substance they have come to rely on, the effects can be severe. Anxiety, agitation, convulsions, vomiting, nightmares, and even hallucinations are common symptoms. Shocking descriptions of delirium tremens provided temperance advocates with a powerful weapon. In this selection temperance reformer James Root recounts his experience suffering delirium tremens while traveling in central New York.
On the morning after my arrival in Geddesburgh, as I did not feel very well, not having drunk anything for twenty-four hours or more, I thought that a walk might do me some good and therefore walked down the street and went out of the village. As I was walking along, I heard quite a number of shrill sounds which grated on my ears very unpleasantly, and which apparently came from some distance over in the field by which I was passing; I also heard a number of voices from the same place, but after looking in that direction for some time, and not being able to discover any person or thing, I passed on and thought no more of it, as my mind was fully occupied with my own affairs.
I soon returned to the house and sat down, still reflecting on the folly of which I had allowed myself to be guilty, not that I supposed my conduct had either offended or injured any being excepting myself, it was the consequences and not the guilt of my actions, on which I was reflecting. And had it not been for what I suffered in body, and the effect which it might have upon my reputation and business, I should have had no trouble about my conduct.
While I was occupied with these reflections, some being appeared to address me in a very familiar manner, as if we were old acquaintances. I could hear the language very distinctly, though it was uttered in a low whisper, as if he were afraid some others might hear, and I soon found that if I made any remarks in the same low voice, they were perfectly understood and a reply given immediately. A conversation then was commenced, and my strange visitor seemed to know many of the transactions which had taken place during my life, with which I supposed no one but myself acquainted. I did think it was very singular and strange that a being whom I could not discern, should not only have the power to converse with me, but also a better knowledge and recollection of some events in my life than I had myself. But though I was at some loss to account for the information which he so evidently possessed, yet I was not in the least frightened; my only feelings so far as I can now recollect, were wonder, and a desire to find out who or what it was that addressed me. After conversing with my mysterious visitant for some time on different subjects, all of which, he appeared to understand remarkably well, I made some inquiry with a view to find out with whom I was conversing. He replied by saying that he was one of a large company, that were going through the country for the purpose of making some money, but by what means he did not distinctly explain. He represented the business as being very lucrative, and asked me if I would not like to join them and have a share in whatever they made. My answer was, that I should not have the least objection, as I wanted to make some money, and I should like to know in what kind of business they were engaged. But he did not say what they were doing, and only remarked that it was profitable.
Up to this time, our conversation had been carried on in the same manner, that any two persons would converse on ordinary topics or business. Singular as it may appear, instead of being either annoyed or frightened, I was perfectly at ease, or rather relieved; my mind was taken off from reflecting, and taken up with his conversation, which appeared like that of a very well informed gentleman, on all subjects about which we conversed. His knowledge was indeed wonderful, for he appeared not only to know everything, but also everybody, whom I had either heard of or known; some of the persons he told me were dead, others were alive and in such and such business, and he seemed to be quite as well acquainted with them as he was with me….He then requested me to step into the next room, which I accordingly did, supposing that he would there disclose their business, and let me know what they were doing.
But I had no sooner entered the room, than there appeared to be quite a number of them, just over my head, all talking at once, and addressing me in the most opprobrious language, which was now as profane and vindictive as can be conceived. Instead of that courteous treatment, and the information which I expected to receive, they were now all upbraiding me for my wickedness, calling me a damned fool and threatening to kill me and put me in hell.
Perhaps, it would be entirely impossible to place a human being in a situation on earth, where he could be more utterly confounded than I was, when I heard those very devils, whose existence I had denied, arraign and curse me with such bitter malignity. For a man who had believed only a moment before, that there was neither a God, nor devil, nor hell, to have all three demonstrated to him in an instant, and in such a manner too—was certainly calculated to startle him some, as well as to change his faith.
As soon as I recovered from the shock of astonishment into which this conduct and language threw me, so as to be able to speak, I said, “What? Then there is a hell?”—“Yes—you damned fool—and you will soon be in it.” Was the reply. In an instant the thought rushed into my mind,—that, if there was a hell, there must be a God, a heaven, a Savior, and the bible was true. The thought had scarcely entered my mind, when they replied, “Yes—you damned fool—it is so. But you are going to hell with us. You have lost heaven by your senseless and wicked conduct, when you might have been saved, if you had not been such a damned fool.” So great was their furious malice that they cursed, reviled and threatened, as if it were impossible even to wait until my horror of mind should kill me, and they seemed determined to crush out the spirit at once and have me in their power immediately. …
I can hardly describe the state of my feelings at this time—my atheism was swept out of me like chaff before a whirlwind, and I was now fully convinced, that I had indeed been a fool of the purest water. But after what I had said on the subject of atheism, and the scornful manner in which I had rejected and ridiculed the Savior, I saw no way of escape, and felt that my doom was sealed by my own hand. I had now fully learned who my mysterious visitors were, and the business in which they were engaged, and supposing myself to be entirely in their power, I expected the death and destruction with which I was threatened immediately. My blood seemed as if it were congealing and there was a cold shuddering horror creeping through every vein. But though expecting instantly both death and damnation yet neither the fear of the one nor the other produced the least effort on my part to escape from the horrible doom. Like a man who sees a monster advancing to destroy him, which he can neither resist nor flee from, and who makes up his mind to stand and await the event—certain of being destroyed—so I stood—without letting anyone know my awful situation, and without the least thought of asking for assistance either from God or from man. Expecting every moment to be hurled into eternity and sent to perdition.
- Timothy Shay Arthur, Selection from Ten Nights in a Bar-Room, and What I Saw There, 1854
An indefatigable temperance advocate, Timothy Shay Arthur wrote more than 200 novels in his lifetime. His best-selling volume, Ten Nights in a Bar-Room, and What I Saw There, is told from the point of view of an unnamed narrator who witnesses the degradation wrought on an all-American town by the opening of a tavern. The book’s most heartrending story describes the death of Mary Morgan, a young girl who, each night, would brave the outdoors to fetch her drunken father, Joe, from the bar.
One night, Joe Morgan quarrels with the bar’s owner, Simon Slade, and as tempers rise, Slade throws a glass at Morgan. It misses its target and strikes Mary as she enters the room in search of her father. The following scene takes place the next morning at the Morgan home as Joe sleeps off his hangover and Mary’s condition worsens. Also present in the scene are Mrs. Morgan and Mrs. Slade.
“See if father isn’t awake,” said Mary, raising her head from the pillow….
Mrs. Morgan stepped to the door, and looked into the room where her husband lay.
“He is still asleep, dear,” she remarked, coming back to the bed.
“Oh! I wish he was awake. I want to see him so much. Won’t you call him, mother?”
“I have called him a good many times. But you know the doctor gave him opium. He can’t wake up yet.”
“He’s been sleeping a very long time; don’t you think so, mother?”
“Yes, dear, it does seem a long time. But it’s best for him. He’ll be better when he wakes.”
Mary closed her eyes, wearily. How deathly white was her face—how sunken her eyes—how sharply contracted her features!
"I’ve given her up, Mrs. Slade," said Mrs. Morgan, in a low, rough, choking whisper, as she leaned nearer to her friend. “I’ve given her up! The worst is over; but, oh! it seemed as though my heart would break in the struggle. Dear child! In all the darkness of my way, she has helped and comforted me. Without her, it would have been the blackness of darkness."
“Father! father!” The voice of Mary broke out with a startling quickness.
Mrs. Morgan turned to the bed, and laying her hand on Mary’s arm said—
“He’s still sound asleep, dear.”
“No, he isn’t, mother. I heard him move. Won’t you go in and see if he is awake?”
In order to satisfy the child, her mother left the room. To her surprise, she met the eyes of her husband as she entered the chamber where he lay. He looked at her calmly.
“What does Mary want with me?” he asked.
“She wishes to see you. She’s called you so many, many times. Shall I bring her in here?”
“No. I’ll get up and dress myself.”
“I wouldn’t do that. You’ve been sick.
“Oh, no. I don’t feel sick.”
“Father! father!” The clear, earnest voice of Mary was heard calling.
“I’m coming, dear,” answered Morgan.
“Come quick, father, won’t you?”
“Yes, love.” And Morgan got up and dressed himself—but with unsteady hands, and every sign of nervous prostration. In a little while, with the assistance of his wife, he was ready, and, supported by her, came tottering into the room where Mary was lying.
“Oh, father!”—What a light broke over her countenance— “I’ve been waiting for you so long. I thought you were never going to wake up. Kiss me, father.”
“What can I do for you, Mary?” asked Morgan, tenderly, as he laid his face down upon the pillow beside her.
“Nothing, father. I don’t wish for anything. I only wanted to see you.”
“I’m here, now, love.”
“Dear father!” How earnestly, yet tenderly she spoke, laying her small hand upon his face. “You’ve always been good to me, father.”
“Oh, no. I’ve never been good to anybody,” sobbed the weak, broken-spirited man, as he raised himself from the pillow.
How deeply touched was Mrs. Slade, as she sat, the silent witness of this scene!
“You haven’t been good to yourself, father—but you’ve always been good to us.”
“Don’t, Mary! Don’t say anything about that,” interposed Morgan. “Say that I’ve been very bad—very wicked. Oh, Mary, dear! I only wish that I was as good as you are; I’d like to die, then, and go right away from this evil world. I wish there was no liquor to drink —no taverns—no bar-rooms. Oh dear! Oh dear! I wish I was dead.”
And the weak, trembling, half-palsied man laid his face again upon the pillow beside his child, and sobbed aloud.
What an oppressive silence reigned for a time through the room!
“Father.” The stillness was broken by Mary. Her voice was clear and even. “Father, I want to tell you something?”
“What is it, Mary?”
“There’ll be nobody to go for you, father.” The child’s lips now quivered, and tears filled into her eyes.
“Don’t talk about that, Mary. I’m not going out in the evening any more until you get well. Don’t you remember I promised?”
“But, father”—She hesitated.
“What, dear?”
“I’m going away to leave you and mother.”
“Oh, no—no—no, Mary! Don’t say that.”—The poor man’s voice was broken.— “Don’t say that! We can’t let you go, dear.”
“God has called me.” The child’s voice had a solemn tone, and her eyes turned reverently upward.
“I wish he would call me! Oh, I wish he would call me!” groaned Morgan, hiding his face in his hands. “What shall I do when you are gone? Oh dear! Oh dear!”
“Father!” Mary spoke calmly again. “You are not ready to go yet. God will let you live here longer, that you may get ready.”
“How can I get ready without you to help me, Mary? My angel child!”
“Haven’t I tried to help you, father, oh, so many times?” said Mary.
“Yes—yes—you’ve always tried.”
“But it wasn’t any use. You would go out—you would go to the tavern. It seemed almost as if you couldn’t help it.”
Morgan groaned in spirit.
“Maybe I can help you better, father, after I die. I love you so much, that I am sure God will let me come to you, and stay with you always, and be your angel. Don’t you think he will, mother?”
But Mrs. Morgan’s heart was too full. She did not even try to answer, but sat, with streaming eyes, gazing upon her child’s face.
“Father, I dreamed something about you, while I slept to-day.” Mary again turned to her father.
“What was it, dear?”
“I thought it was night, and that I was still sick. You promised not to go out again until I was well. But you did go out; and I thought you went over to Mr. Slade’s tavern. When I knew this, I felt as strong as when I was well, and I got up and dressed myself, and started out after you. But I hadn’t gone far, before I met Mr. Slade’s great bull-dog Nero, and he growled at me so dreadfully that I was frightened and ran back home. Then I started again, and went away round by Mr. Mason’s. But there was Nero in the road, and this time he caught my dress in his mouth and tore a great piece out of the skirt. I ran back again, and he chased me all the way home. Just as I got to the door, I looked around, and there was Mr. Slade, setting Nero on me. As soon as I saw Mr. Slade, though he looked at me very wicked, I lost all my fear, and turning around, I walked past Nero, who showed his teeth, and growled as fiercely as ever, but didn’t touch me. Then Mr. Slade tried to stop me. But I didn’t mind him, and kept right on, until I came to the tavern, and there you stood in the door. And you were dressed so nice. You had on a new hat and a new coat; and your boots were new, and polished just like Judge Hammond’s. I said—‘0 father! is this you?’ And then you took me up in your arms and kissed me, and said— ‘Yes, Mary, I am your real father. Not old Joe Morgan—but Mr. Morgan now.’ It seemed all so strange, that I looked into the bar-room to see who was there. But it wasn’t a bar-room any longer; but a store full of goods. The sign of the Sickle and Sheaf was taken down; and over the door I now read your name, father. Oh! I was so glad, that I awoke—and then I cried all to myself, for it was only a dream.”
The last words were said very mournfully, and with a drooping of Mary’s lids, until the tear-gemmed lashes lay close upon her cheeks. Another period of deep silence followed—for the oppressed listeners gave no utterance to what was in their hearts. Feeling was too strong for speech. Nearly five minutes glided away, and then Mary whispered the name of her father, but without opening her eyes.
Morgan answered, and bent down his ear.
“You will only have mother left,” she said—“only mother. And she cries so much when you are away.”
“I won’t leave her, Mary, only when I go to work,” said Morgan, whispering back to the child. “And I’ll never go out at night anymore.”
“Yes; you promised me that.”
“And I’ll promise more.”
“What, father?”
“Never to go into a tavern again.”
“Never!”
“No, never. And I’ll promise still more.”
“Father?”
“Never to drink a drop of liquor as long as I live.”
“Oh, father! dear, dear father!”
And with a cry of joy Mary started up and flung herself upon his breast. Morgan drew his arms tightly around her, and sat for a long time, with his lips pressed to her cheek—while she lay against his bosom as still as death. As death? Yes; for, when the father unclasped his arms, the spirit of his child was with the angels of the resurrection!
- Table of Alcohol Consumption and the Cost to the Drinker, from Permanent Temperance Documents of the American Temperance Society, 1835
This table shows how quickly a small daily taste of alcohol adds up—both in the amount drunk and the amount spent. One gill is four ounces, a little more than two shot glasses. A quart is thirty-two ounces, a little more than two cans of beer. One dollar in 1835 was worth about $27 today.
- Leonard Marsh, The Physiology of Intemperance: An Address Before the Temperance Society of the University of Vermont, June 29, 1841, 1841
Leonard Marsh, a medical doctor, takes a different approach to promoting temperance by focusing, he says, solely on the physiological effects of alcohol on the body. Arguing that he will appeal to reason rather than emotion, he contends that the health consequences of drinking are sufficient to turn away from the habit.
I shall not attempt to prove, that to drink ardent spirits is always a sin against God, or our neighbor. I shall not appeal to your sympathies, or harrow up your feelings by horrid pictures of the consequences of intemperance, for which there are so many materials at hand. I am not going to discuss the subject in its relation to political economy, to show how much crime and pauperism, and taxation, are owing to the use of alcohol. Neither shall I express any opinion with regard to the manufacture or sale of ardent spirits.
I intend to address you rather as individuals than as members of a community, to appeal, not so much to the social feelings, as to the understanding, and the prudence; the self-love, and the instinct of self-preservation in every one who hears me. I mean to show that the habitual use of intoxicating liquors, is, under all circumstances, unnecessary; often immediately injurious; and always, in the highest degree, dangerous, to the physical, intellectual, and moral well-being of those who indulge in it. …
Every substance in Nature when taken into the stomach produces certain effects, and these effects are uniform, and the same in all men, or nearly so. But the effects themselves are as various as the substances by which they are produced are numerous. Of all these, food alone, as before remarked, can supply the waste of the vital energy. It must be a substance from which the digestive organs can extract nourishment, by which, when digested, the mass of nutritive blood shall be increased. The question here naturally arises whether alcohol be such a substance? …
The body can receive nourishment only by the change of food into blood, but this requires many complicated processes which cannot take place in less time than from one, to three, or four hours. We are not aware perhaps in a state of health, that we do not receive the full benefit of our food, until after the lapse of so long a time. But in cases of excessive exhaustion, where the change from debility to strength is more marked, the tact is easily observed. The same might also be inferred from the instinct of animals which, usually, if undisturbed, sleep after taking their food. The effect of alcohol, on the other hand, is that of a stimulant, always sudden, and even instantaneous, and is produced by mere contact of the nerves of the stomach, and not by any tedious process of change. But, suppose it to be digested, and changed into blood by some sudden process, with which we are unacquainted, its apparent effect is always greater than in proportion to its quantity; at least, no other article of food, however concentrated, can be made to yield the same results. And besides, if the real strength and vigor of the system are increased by it, a man might live as long upon whiskey as upon bread, and much cheaper.
The primary effect of alcohol upon the brain, through the nerves of the stomach, is analogous to that produced upon the same organ through the external senses. Joy, anger, music, exciting news, produce effects much more resembling those of alcohol, than those of alcohol are like the stimulus of food. Since ardent spirits furnish no nourishment to the body, they cannot add permanently to its ability to perform labor or sustain fatigue. And, although in some rare cases of disease, they may be useful in rousing the torpid nervous system, they cannot be necessary, or safe, in ordinary life; because it cannot be safe often to awaken unnatural excitement, nor necessary, except in extraordinary emergencies, and then the occasion itself is always a sufficient excitement.
What then are the effects of alcohol? It increases the action of all the organs by which the strength is expended, wasting rapidly the vital energies. It injures, weakens, and finally destroys the organs of digestion; thus diminishing the supply of strength in proportion as it creates a necessity for it. It exhausts, deranges, and stupefies the whole nervous system. It destroys the healthy, equable, pleasurable feeling of every organ of the body; substituting for it restlessness, discontent, and pain.
To understand how this is so, let us look at a single example. Of a company who have set down to drink take an individual. One or two of the first glasses seem to produce little effect, but closer observation may show us that even now the poison is beginning to operate. His eye assumes an unusual brightness, he listens more attentively to the conversation around him—he begins to take part in it—his words flow from his tongue with unwonted ease—as the bottle circulates he recollects that gesture is the ornament of speech, or by way of confirmation to what his hearers may seem to doubt, and at the same time to relieve his muscles impatient to be employed, he brings down his hand violently upon the table. Every glass now does its work. If you choose to fight, he is ready, whether the war be one of words, or of fists, or of knives. He sings—he dances—he shouts—he throws the bottles into the looking-glass, and the chairs through the windows. His internal organs are equally excited. His nostrils are dilated—his breath is deep and strong—his heart throws forth its blood almost with the rapidity of lightning—his face is flushed, and every nerve and fiber of his body is mad with excitement.
Without waiting to see how this process of exhaustion will end, let us look at him on the following morning and see how many of his organs have been the sufferers by it. His head is stupid and painful—his eye is unmeaning—his whole face is relaxed and inexpressive—he answers your questions with a monosyllable—his heart beats feebly and quick—there is pain in his joints and an indisposition to move—his mouth is parched—his stomach loathes food—and his whole appearance indicates discontent, and suffering, of body, and mind.
10. Temperance song “Come all Ye Young Teetotallers!” from Cold Water Melodies, and Washingtonian Songster. Enlarged and Improved, ed. John Pierpont, 1843
Nineteenth-century Americans found enjoyment in spending time with friends and family, and without electronic gadgets to keep them busy, gathering around the piano to sing helped lighten the mood. The following selections appear intended to simultaneously enlighten and entertain. (Note: a "teetotaller" is someone who has totally given up alcohol."
COME ALL YE YOUNG TEETOTALLERS!
Air— “Yankee Doodle.”
Come all ye young teetotallers—
Come with us while we go
To fight with old king Alcohol,
A brave and mortal foe.
Then rouse, my lads, then rouse ye up;
Come forward every one;
We’ll banish far the poison cup,
Nor stop till vict’ry’s won.
A hard old enemy is he,
And brave and bold in fight;
But labor hard—we’ll soon be free,
For God defends the right.
Then rouse, my lads, &c. [The chorus would be sung here]
But though he may be brave and bold,
We’ll show what we can do;
We’re not the temp’rance men of old—
We go for something new.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.
“We touch not, taste not, handle not,”
What can intoxicate;
We’ll live and die without a blot,
And shun the drunkard’s fate.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.
Grog men may laugh, and joke, and sneer,
They laugh and tremble too;
For when the boys take hold, they fear
There’s something then to do.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.
And now, my boys, since we’ve begun,
The cause must never fall;
Let each man bring some other one,
And soon we’ll have them all.
Then rouse, my lads, &c.
11. The 1851 Maine Prohibition Law, from Documentary History of the Maine Law: Comprising the Original Maine Law, the New-York Prohibitory Law, Legislative Debates, Arguments, Judicial Decisions, Statistics, Important Correspondence; "Inquisition" and Prohibition versus “Freedom” and Anti-prohibition, 1855
The road to the legal prohibition of alcohol was paved by the state of Maine. An 1846 law that forbade the sale of alcohol in amounts less than twenty-eight gallons was refined five years later by an 1851 act that forbid both the sale and manufacture of “spirituous or intoxicating liquors.” “Maine Law” quickly became shorthand for prohibition as other states debated enacting similar statutes. The law proved short lived, however. After sparking protests, which occasionally turned violent, it was repealed in 1856.
AN ACT FOR THE SUPPRESSION OF DRINKING-HOUSES AND TIPPLING-SHOPS.
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives in Legislature assembled, as follows:
Section 1. No person shall be allowed at any time, to manufacture or sell, by himself, his clerk, servant, or agent, directly or indirectly, any spirituous liquors or intoxicating liquors, or any mixed liquors, a part of which is spirituous or intoxicating, except as hereinafter provided.
Sec. 2. The selectmen of any town, and mayor and aldermen of any city, …. may appoint some suitable person, as the agent of the said town or city, to sell, at some central and convenient place within said town or city, spirits, wines, or other intoxicating liquors, to be used for medicinal and mechanical purposes and no other; and said agent shall receive such compensation for his services as the board appointing him shall prescribe;…
Sec. 4. If any person, by himself, clerk, servant or agent, shall at any time sell any spirituous liquors, part of which is intoxicating, in violation of the provisions of this act, he shall forfeit and pay, on the first conviction, ten dollars and the costs of prosecution, and shall stand committed until the same be paid; on the second conviction he shall pay twenty dollars and the costs of prosecution, and shall stand committed until the same be paid ; on the third and every subsequent conviction, he shall pay twenty dollars and the costs of prosecution, and shall be imprisoned in the common jail, not less than three months, nor more than six months. … And if any clerk, servant, agent, or other person in the employment or on the premises of another shall violate the provisions of this section, he shall be held equally guilty with the principal, and on conviction, shall suffer the same penalty. …
Sec. 9. No person engaged in the unlawful traffic in intoxicating liquors shall be competent to sit upon any jury in any case arising under this act….