University of Virginia Library

It was the first time that a Roman Catholic priest, with his
whole people, had dared to speak such language to a Bishop of
Rome on this continent. Never yet had the unbearable tyranny
of those haughty men received such a public rebuke. Our fearless
words fell as a bombshell in the camp of the Roman Catholic
hierachy of America.

With very few exceptions, the press of the State of Illinois,
whose columns had so often echoed the cries of indignation
raised everywhere against the tyranny of Bishop O'Regan,
took sides with me. Hundreds of priests, not only from Illinois,
but from every corner of the United States, addressed their
warmest thanks to me for the stand I had taken, and asked me,
in the name of God and for the honor of the church, not to
yield an inch of my rights. Many promised to support us at

the court of Romc, by writing themselves to the Pope, to denounce
not only the Bishop of Illinois, but several others, who,
though not so openly bad, were yet trampling under their feet
the most sacred rights of the priests and the people. Unfortunately
those priests gave me a saddening knowledge of their
cowardice by putting in their letters "absolutely confidential."
They all promised to help me when I was storming the strong
fortress of the enemy, provided I would go alone in the gap,
and that they would keep themselves behind thick walls, far
from shot and shell.

However, this did not disturb me, for my God knows it, my
trust was not in my own strength, but in his protection. I was
sure that I was in the right, that the Gospel of Christ was on
my side, that all the canons and laws of the councils were in my
favor.

My library was filled with the best books on the canons and
laws passed in the great councils of my church. It was written
in big letters in the celebrated work, "Histoire du droit canonique."
There is no arbitrary power in the Church of Christ.—
Vol. iii., page 139.

The Council of Augsburg, held in 1548 (Can. 24), had declared
that, "no sentence of excommunication will be passed,
except for great crimes."

The Pope St. Gregory had said: "That censures are null
when not inflicted for great sins or for faults which have not
been clearly proved."

"An unjust excommunication does not bind before God
those against whom it has been hushed. But it injures only the
one who has proffered it."—Eccl. Laws, by Hericourt, c. xxii.,
No. 50.

"If an unjust sentence is pronounced against any one, he
must not pay any attention to it; for, before God and his Church,
an unjust sentence cannot injure anybody. Let, then, that person
do nothing to get such an unjust sentence repealed, for it
cannot injure him."—St. Gelace—The Pope—(Canoni bin est.)

The canonists conclude, from all the laws of the church on
that matter, "That if a priest is unjustly interdicted or excommunicated

he may continue to officiate without any fear of becoming
irregular."—Eccl. Laws, by Hericourt, c. xxii., No. 51.

Protected by these laws, and hundreds of others too long to
enumerate, which my church had passed in every age, strengthened
by the voice of my conscience, which assured me that I
had done nothing to deserve to be interdicted or excommunicated;
sure, besides, of the testimony brought by our four delegates
that the bishop himself had declared that I was one of
his best priests, that he wanted to give me my letters to go and
perform the functions of my ministry in Kahokia: above all,
knowing the unanimous will of my people that I should remain
with them and continue the great and good work so providentially
trusted to me in my colony, and regarding this as an indication
of the divine will, I determined to remain, in spite of the
Bishop of Chicago. All the councils of my church were telling
me that he had no power to injure me, and that all his official
acts were null.

But if he were spiritually powerless against me, it was not
so in temporal matters. His power and his desire to injure us
had increased with his hatred, since he had read our letters and
seen them in all the papers of Chicago.

The first thing he did was to reconcile himself to the priest
LeBelle, whom he had turned out ignominiously from his diocese
some time before. That priest had since that obtained a fine
situation in the diocese of Michigan. He invited him to his
palace, and petted him several days. I felt that the reconciliation
of those two men meant nothing good for me. But my hope
was, more than ever, that the merciful God who had protected
me so many times against them, would save me again from
their machinations. The air was, however, filled with the
strangest rumors against me. It was said everywhere that Mr.
LeBelle was to bring such charges against my character that I
would be sent to the penitentiary.

What were the new iniquities to be laid to my charge? No
one could tell. But the few partisans and friends of the bishop.
Messrs. LeBelle and Spink, were jubilant and sure that I was to
be forever destroyed.

At last, the time arrived when the Sheriff of Kankakee had
to drag me again as a criminal and a prisoner to Urbana, and
deliver me into the hands of the sheriff of that city. I arrived
here on the 20th of October, with my lawyers, Messrs. Osgood
and Paddock, and a dozen witnesses. Mr. Abraham Lincoln
had preceded me only by a few minutes from Springfield. He
was in the company of Judge David Davis, since Vice-President
of the United States, when I met him.

The jury having been selected and sworn, the Rev. Mr.
LeBelle was the first witness called to testify and say what he
knew against my character.

Mr. Lincoln objected to that kind of testimony, and tried to
prove that Mr. Spink had no right to bring his new suit against
me by attacking my character. But Judge Davis ruled that the
prosecution had that right in the case that was before him. Mr.
LeBelle had, then, full liberty to say anything he wanted, and
he availed himself of his privilege. His testimony lasted nearly
an hour, and was too long to be given here. I will only say
that he began by declaring that "Chiniquy was one of the vilest
men of the day—that every kind of bad rumors were constantly
circulating against him." He gave a good number of those
rumors, though he could not positively swear if they were
founded on truth or not, for he had not investigated them. But
he said there was one of which he was sure, for he had authenticated
it thoroughly. He expressed a great deal of apparent
regret that he was forced to reveal to the world such things
which were not only against the honor of Chiniquy, but, to
some extent, involved the good name of a dear sister, Madame
Bosse. But as he was to speak the truth before God, he could
not help it—the sad truth must be told. "Mr. Chiniquy," he
said, "had attempted to do the most infamous things with my
own sister, Madame Bosse. She herself has told me the whole
story under oath, and she would be here to unmask the wicked
man to-day before the whole world, if she were not forced to
silence, at home, from a severe illness."

Though every word of that story was a perjury, there was
such a color of truth and sincerity in my accuser, that his testimony

fell upon me and my lawyers and all my friends as a
thunderbolt. A man who has never heard such a calumny
brought against him before a jury in a court-house packed with
people, composed of friends and foes, will never understand
what I felt in this the darkest hour of my life. My God only
knows the weight and the bitterness of the waves of desolation
which then passed over my soul.

After that testimony was given, there was a lull, and a most
profound silence in the court-room. All the eyes were turned
upon me, and I heard many voices speaking of me, whispering,
"The villain!" Those voices passed through my soul as poisoned
arrows. Though innocent, I wished that the ground would
open under my feet and bring me down to the darkest abysses,
to conceal me from the eyes of my friends and the whole world.

However, Mr. Lincoln soon interrupted the silence by addressing
to LeBelle such cross-questions that his testimony, in
the minds of many, soon lost much of its power. And he did
still more destroy the effect of his (LeBelle's) false oath, when,
he brought my twelve witnesses, who were among the most
respectable citizens of Bourbonnais, formerly the parishioners of
Mr. LeBelle. Those twelve gentlemen swore that Mr. LeBelle
was such a drunkard and vicious man, that he was so publicly
my enemy on account of the many rebukes I had given to his
private and public vices, that they would not believe a word of
what he said, even upon his oath.

At ten P. M., the court was adjourned, to meet again the next
morning, and I went to the room of Mr. Lincoln with my two
other lawyers, to confer about the morning's work. My mind
was unspeakably sad. Life had never been such a burden to me
as in that hour. I was tempted, like Job, to curse the hour
when I was born. I could see in the faces of my lawyers,
though they tried to conceal it, that they were also full of
anxiety.

"My dear Mr. Chiniquy," said Mr. Lincoln, "though I
hope, to-morrow, to destroy the testimony of Mr. LeBelle
against you, I must concede that I see great dangers ahead.
There is not the least doubt in my mind that every word he has

said is a sworn lie; but my fear is that the jury thinks differently.
I am a pretty good judge in these matters. I feel that our jurymen
think that you are guilty. There is only one way to perfectly
destroy the power of a false witness—it is by another
direct testimony against what he has said, or by showing from
his very lips that he has perjured himself. I failed to do that
last night, though I have diminished, to a great extent, the force
of his testimony. Can you not prove an alibi, or can you not
bring witnesses who were there in the same house that day,
who would flatly and directly contradict what your remorseless
enemy has said against you?"

I answered him: "How can I try to do such a thing when
they have been shrewd enough not to fix the very date of the
alleged crime against me?"

"You are correct, you are perfectly correct, Mr. Chiniquy,"
answered Mr. Lincoln, "as they have refused to specify the
date, we cannot try that. I have never seen two such skillful
rogues as those two priests! There is really a diabolical skill in
the plan they have concocted for your destruction. It is evident
that the bishop is at the bottom of the plot. You remember
how I have forced LeBelle to confess that he was now on the
most friendly terms with the Bishop of Chicago, since he has
become the chief of your accusers. Though I do not give up
the hope of rescuing you from the hands of your enemies, I
do not like to conceal from you that I have several reasons
to fear that you will be declared guilty and condemned to a
heavy penalty, or to the penitentiary, though I am sure you
are perfectly innocent. It is very probable that we will have to
confront that sister of LeBelle tomorrow. Her sickness is
probably a feint, in order not to appear here except after the
brother will have prepared the public mind in her favor. At
all events, if she does not come, they will send some justice of
the peace to get her sworn testimony, which will be more difficult
to rebut than her own verbal declarations. That woman
is evidently in the hands of the bishop and her brother priest,
ready to swear anything they order her, and I know nothing so
difficult as to refure such female testimonies, particularly when

they are absent from the court. The only way to be sure of
a favorable verdict to-morrow is, that God Almighty would
take our part and show your innocence! Go to Him and
pray, for He alone can save you."

Mr. Lincoln was exceedingly solemn when he addressed
those words to me, and they went very deep into my soul.

I have often been asked if Abraham Lincoln had any religion,
but I have never had any doubt about his profound confidence in
God, since I heard those words falling from his lips in that hour
of anxiety. I had not been able to conceal my deep distress.
Burning tears were rolling on my cheeks when he was speaking,
and there was on his face the expression of friendly sympathy
which I shall never forget. Without being able to say a word,
I left him to go to my little room. It was nearly eleven
o'clock. I locked the door and fell on my knees to pray, but I
was unable to say a single word. The horrible sworn calumnies
thrown at my face by a priest of my own church were ringing
in my ears! my honor and my good name so cruelly and forever
destroyed! all my friends and my dear people covered with an
eternal confusion! and more than that, the sentence of condemnation
which was probably to be hurled against me the next
day in the presence of the whole country, whose eyes were upon
me! All those things were before me, not only as horrible
phantoms, but as heavy mountains, under the burdens of which
I could not breathe. At last the fountains of tears were opened,
and it relieved me to weep; I could then speak and cry: "Oh!
my God! have mercy upon me! thou knowest my innocence!
hast thou not promised that those who trust in thee cannot perish!
Oh! do not let me perish, when Thou art the only One in whom
I trust! Come to my help! Save me!"

From eleven P. M., to three in the morning I cried to God,
and raised my supplicating hands to his throne of mercy. But
I confess to my confusion, it seemed to me in certain moments,
that it was useless to pray and to cry, for though innocent, I was
doomed to perish. I was in the hands of my enemies. My God
had forsaken me!

What an awful night I spent! I hope none of my readers

will ever know by their own experience the agony of spirit I
endured. I had no other expectation than to be forever dishonored,
and sent to the penitentiary next morning!

But God had not forsaken me! He had again heard my
cries, and was, once more, to show me His infinite mercy!

At three o'clock A. M., I heard three knocks at my door, and
I quickly went to open it. "Who was there? Abraham Lincoln,
with a face beaming with joy!"

I could hardly believe my eyes. But I was not mistaken.
It was my noble-hearted friend, the most honest lawyer of Illinois!—one
of the noblest men Heaven has ever given to earth!
It was Abraham Lincoln, who had been given me as my Saviour!
On seeing me bathed with tears, he exclaimed, "Cheer up,
Mr. Chiniquy, I have the perjured priests in my hands. Their
diabolical plot is all known, and if they do not fly away before
the dawn of day, they will surely be lynched. Bless the Lord,
you are saved!"

The sudden passage of extreme desolation to an extreme joy
came near killing me. I felt as suffocated, and unable to utter
a single word. I took his hand, pressed it to my lips, and bathed
it with tears of joy. I said: "May God forever bless you, dear
Mr. Lincoln. But please tell me how you can bring me such
glorious news!"

Here is the simple but marvellous story, as told me by that
great and good man, whom God had made the messenger of his
mercies towards me:

"As soon as LeBelle had given his perjured testimony against
you yesterday," said Mr. Lincoln, "one of the agents of the
Chicago press telegraphed to some of the principal papers of
Chicago: `It is probable that Mr. Chiniquy will be condemned;
for the testimony of the Rev. Mr. LeBelle seems to leave no
doubt that he is guilty.' And the little Irish boys, to sell their
papers, filled the streets with the cries: `Chiniquy will be hung!
Chiniquy will be hung!' The Roman Catholics were so glad
to hear that, that ten thousand extra copies have been sold.
Among those who bought those papers was a friend of yours,
called Terrien, who went to his wife and told her that you were

to be condemned, and when the woman heard that, she said, `It
is too bad, for I know Mr. Chiniquy is not guilty.'

" `How do you know that?' said her husband. She answered:
`I was there when the priest LeBelle made the plot, and promised
to give his sister two-eighties of good land if she would swear a
false oath—and accuse him of a crime which that woman said
he had not even thought of with her.'

" `If it be so,' said Terrien, "we cannot allow Mr. Chiniquy
to be condemned. Come with me to Urbana.'

"But that woman being quite unwell, said to her husband,
`You know well I cannot go; but Miss Philomene Moffat was
with me then. She knows every particular of that wicked plot
as well as I do. She is well; go and take her to Urbana. There
is no doubt that her testimony will prevent the condemnation of
Mr. Chiniquy.'

"Narcisse Terrien started immediately: and when you were
praying God to come to your help, He was sending your deliverer
at the full speed of the railroad cars. Miss Moffat has
just given me the details of that diabolical plot. I have advised
her not to show herself before the Court is opened. I will, then,
send for her, and when she will have given, under oath, before
the Court, the details she has just given me, I pity Spink with
his perjured priests. As I told you, I would not be surprised if
they were lynched: for there is a terrible excitement in town
among many people who from the beginning, suspect that the
priests have perjured themselves to destroy you.

"Now your suit is gained, and to-morrow, you will have
the greatest triumph a man ever got over his confounded foes.
But you are in need of a rest as well as myself. Good-bye."

After thanking God for that marvellous deliverance, I went
to bed and took the needed rest.

But what was the priest LeBeile doing in that very moment?
Unable to sleep after the awful perjury he had just made, he had
watched the arrival of the trains from Chicago with an anxious
mind, for he was aware through the confessions he had heard,
that there were two persons in that city who knew his plot and
his false oath; and though he had the promises from them that

they would never reveal it to anybody, he was not without some
fearful apprehensions that I might, by some way or other, become
acquainted with his abominable conspiracy. Not long after the
arrival of the trains from Chicago, he came down from his
room to see in the book where travelers register their names, if
there was any newcomers from Chicago, and what was his dismay
when he saw the first name entered was "Philomene Moffat!"
That very name, Philomene Moffat, who some time before, had
gone to confess to him that she had heard the whole plot from
his own lips, when he had promised 160 acres of land to persuade
his sister to perjure herself in order to destroy me. A
deadly presentiment chilled the blood in his veins! "Would it
be possible that this girl is here to reveal and prove my perjury
before the world?"

He immediately sent for her, when she was just coming from
meeting Mr. Lincoln.

"Miss Philomene Moffat here!" he exclaimed, when he saw
her. "What are you coming here for, this night?" he said.

"You will know it, sir, to-morrow morning," she answered.

"Ah! wretched girl! you come to destroy me?" he exclaimed.

She replied: "I do not come to destroy you, for you are
already destroyed. Mr. Lincoln knows everything."

"Oh! my God! my God!" he exclaimed, striking his forehead
with his hands. Then taking a big bundle of bank notes
from his pocket-book, he said: "Here are one hundred dollars
for you, if you take the morning train and go back to Chicago."

"If you would offer me as much gold as this house could
contain, I would not go," she replied.

He then left her abruptly, ran to the sleeping-room of Spink,
and told him: "Withdraw your suit against Chiniquy; we are
lost; he knows all."

Without losing a moment, he went to the sleeping-room of
his co-priest, and told him: "Make haste—dress yourself and
let us take the morning train; we have no business here, Chiniquy
knows all our secrets."

When the hour of opening the court came, there was an immense

crowd, not only inside, but outside its walls. Mr. Spink,
pale as a man condemned to death, rose before the Judge, and
said: "Please the court, allow me to withdraw my prosecution
against Mr. Chiniquy. I am now persuaded that he is not guilty
of the faults brought against him before this tribunal."

Abraham Lincoln, having accepted that reparation in my
name, made a short, but one of the most admirable speeches I
had ever heard, on the cruel injustices I had suffered from my
merciless persecutors, and denounced the rascality of the priests
who had perjured themselves, with such terrible colors, that it
had been very wise on their part to fly away and disappear
before the opening of the court. For the whole city was ransacked
for them by hundreds, who blamed me for forgiving
them and refusing to have my revenge for the wrong they had
done me. But I thought that my enemies were sufficiently punished
by the awful public disclosures of their infernal plot. It
seemed that the dear Saviour who had so visibly protected me,
was to be obeyed, when he was whispering in my soul, "Forgive
them and love them as thyself."

Was not Spink sufficiently punished by the complete ruin
which was brought upon him by the loss of the suit? For
having gone to Bishop O'Regan to be indemnified for the enormous
expenses of such a long prosecution, at such a distance, the
bishop coldly answered him: "I had promised to indemnify you
if you would put Chiniquy down, as you promised me. But as
it is Chiniquy who has put you down, I have not a cent to give
you."

Abraham Lincoln had not only defended me with the zeal
and talent of the ablest lawyer I have ever known, but as the
most devoted and noblest friend I ever had. After giving more
than a year of his precious time to my defense, when he had
pleaded during two long sessions of the Court of Urbana, without
receiving a cent from me, I considered that I was owing him
a great sum of money. My other two lawyers, who had not
done the half of his work, asked me a thousand dollars each, and
I had not thought that too much. After thanking him for the
inappreciable services he had rendered me, I requested him

to show me his bill, assuring him that, though I would not be
able to pay the whole cash, I would pay him to the last cent, if
he had the kindness to wait a little for the balance.

He answered me with a smile and an air of inimitable kindness,
which was peculiar to him: "My dear Mr. Chiniquy, I
feel proud and honored to have been called to defend you. But
I have done it less as a lawyer than as a friend. The money I
should receive from you would take away the pleasure I feel at
having fought your battle. Your case is unique in my whole practice.
I have never met a man so cruelly persecuted as you have
been, and who deserves it so little. Your enemies are devils incarnate.
The plot they had concocted against you is the most hellish
one I ever knew. But the way you have been saved from their
hand, the appearance of that young and intelligent Miss Moffat,
who was really sent by God in the very hour of need, when, I
confess it again, I thought everything was nearly lost, is one of
the most extraordinary occurrences I ever saw. It makes me
remember what I have too often forgotten, and what my mother
often told me when young—that our God is a prayer-hearing
God. This good thought, sown into my young heart by that
dear mother's hand, was just in my mind when I told you, `Go
and pray, God alone can save you.' But I confess to you that I
had not faith enough to believe that your prayer would be so
quickly and so marvellously answered by the sudden appearance
of that interesting young lady, last night. Now let us speak of
what you owe me. Well!—Well!—how much do you owe me?
You owe me nothing! for I suppose you are quite ruined. The
expenses of such a suit, I know, must be enormous. Your enemies
want to ruin you. Will I help them to finish your ruin,
when I hope I have the right to be put among the most sincere
and devoted of your friends?"

"You are right," I answered him; "you are the most devoted
and noblest friend God ever gave me, and I am nearly ruined
by my enemies. But you are the father of a pretty large
family; you must support them. Your traveling expenses in
coming, twice, here for me from Springfield; your hotel bills
during the two terms you have defended me, must be very considerable.

It is not just that you should receive nothing in return
for such work and expenses."

"Well! well!" he answered, "I will give you a promissory
note which you will sign." Taking then a small piece of paper,
he wrote:

He handed me the note, saying, "Can you sign that?"

After reading it, I said, "Dear Mr. Lincoln, this is a joke.
It is not possible that you ask only fifty dollars for services which
are worth at least two thousand dollars."

He then tapped me with the right hand on the shoulders and
said: "Sign that; it is enough. I will pinch some rich man for
that and make them pay the rest of the bill," and he laughed
outright.

When Abraham Lincoln was writing the due-bill, the relaxation
of the great strain upon my mind, and the great kindness
of my benefactor and defender in charging me so little tor
such a service, and the terrible presentiment that he would pay

with his life what he had done for me, caused me to break into
sobs and tears.

As Mr. Lincoln had finished writing the due bill, he turned
round to me, and said, "Father Chiniquy, what are you crying
for? ought you not to be the most happy man alive? you have
beaten your enemies and gained the most glorious victory, and
you will come out of all your troubles in triumph."

"Dear Mr. Lincoln," I answered, "allow me to tell you that
the joy I should naturally feel for such a victory is destroyed in
my mind by the fear of what it may cost you. There were,
then, in the crowd, not less than ten or twelve Jesuits from
Chicago and St. Louis, who came to hear my sentence of condemnation
to the penitentiary. But it was on their heads that you
have brought the thunders of heaven and earth! nothing can be
compared to the expression of their rage against you, when you
not only wrenched me from their cruel hands, but you were
making the walls of the court-house tremble under the awful
and superhumanly eloquent denunciation of their infamy, diabolical
malice, and total want of Christian and human principle,
in the plot they had formed for my destruction. What troubles
my soul, just now, and draws my tears, is that it seems to me
that I have read your sentence of death in their bloody eyes.
How many other noble victims have already fallen at their feet!

He tried to divert my mind, at first, with a joke, "Sign this,"
said he, "It will be my warrant of death."

But after I had signed, he became more solemn, and said, "I
know that Jesuits never forget nor forsake. But man must not
care how and where he dies, provided he dies at the post of
honor and duty," and he left me.

Here is the sworn declaration of Miss Philomene Moffat,
now Mrs. Philomene Schwartz: