Judge Thompson on the Temperance Crusade
Lead Summary

By
Steve Roush-
Ladies and gentlemen, as I sit on the front porch of the Mother Thompson Home, Mrs. Marie Thompson Rives, the daughter of temperance pioneer Eliza Jane Trimble Thompson, pauses as she finishes an account of the 500 White Ribboners visiting the historic house in Hillsboro on Nov. 16, 1903.
“Well, Mr. Roush, I’m sure I’ve talked more than enough about the crusade and our family,” she says.
“On the contrary, I’d love to hear some more,” I reply. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she says. “My father, Judge Thompson, passed away in August of 1900, and he recorded his first impressions of temperance moment. Would you like to hear what he wrote?”
“I’m all ears,” I say with a smile.
She begins to read the words written by her father, James Henry Thompson, “The town of Hillsboro has always been noted for its interest in the encouragement of all systems of education, and few populations have excelled that of Hillsboro in the promotion of female education; the result of which has been to establish a high standard of refinement of both sexes and an unusually independent order of thought and action between them, as is
evidenced by the fact that the Women’s Temperance Crusade had its birth in the village and has already breathed its infant breath throughout Christendom.
“Books have been written, voluminous reports have been made and eloquent speeches have been uttered as to the minute details of the origin of the Women’s Temperance Crusade in Hillsboro, and most of them are true in statement and in fact; but nowhere has pen ventured a description of the band – the cohort, the troupe. No! Rather the apparition of 70 women in sable black arrayed, and in settled line of march, moving as when first seen on the streets of Hillsboro.
“It was a dark, cloudy, cold and still December day, no sun shining from above, no wind playing around, a little snow leisurely dropping down, and under the magic command of their own leaders, chosen on the instant at the hurried previous organization at the Presbyterian church, the procession moved with solemn steps, as if each woman had been trained for that day’s work from the cradle.
“‘Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,’ but the poetic mind instantly hummed the ‘Ode of Charles Wolfe at the Burial of Sir John Moore.’
“Husbands saw their wives, sons and daughters, their mothers and neighbors, their friends, moving along with the strange apparition and knew not what it meant, until before some liquor saloon or hotel or drugstore, you could hear the singing of some familiar hymn warble through the air in tones of the most touching note; and then, solemn silence prevailing up and down street, the utterance of a soul-stirring prayer made by some lady, with all others kneeling around on curbstone or pavement or door-sill, could be heard ascending to the throne of God to avert the curse of intemperance. No crowd of shouting boys followed; no cliques of consulting men on the street corners were gathered; every countryman halted his team in awe; no vociferous angry words were heard, and no officer commanded the peace – for it was death-like peace. Throughout the day, songs and prayers were heard at all places kept for the sale of liquors, and at night consultation was resumed at the church, from whence the ‘Phoenix-like body,’ springing from the ashes of the ‘funeral pyre’ of woman’s immolation, had emerged in the morning; and there, in making reports, prayer and singing in spirit as never before, was sung on Christmas Eve: ‘Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind.’
“They remained until the moon in the last quarter lighted their pathway to homes, whose inmates as spectators of the troupe when the first curtain was raised, stood around the hearth stones in as much wonder as if a company of celestial beings had on that day come down from the skies.
“Such is a dim outline of the first parade of the Women’s Temperance Crusade at Hillsboro; and well may it be said of the ‘opening of the heavens’ on that memorable day, that ‘He who made a decree for the rain and a way for the lightning’ will alone limit its effects on the nations of the earth.”
Let’s pause for now, and we’ll continue next week.
Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press.
“Well, Mr. Roush, I’m sure I’ve talked more than enough about the crusade and our family,” she says.
“On the contrary, I’d love to hear some more,” I reply. “That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” she says. “My father, Judge Thompson, passed away in August of 1900, and he recorded his first impressions of temperance moment. Would you like to hear what he wrote?”
“I’m all ears,” I say with a smile.
She begins to read the words written by her father, James Henry Thompson, “The town of Hillsboro has always been noted for its interest in the encouragement of all systems of education, and few populations have excelled that of Hillsboro in the promotion of female education; the result of which has been to establish a high standard of refinement of both sexes and an unusually independent order of thought and action between them, as is
evidenced by the fact that the Women’s Temperance Crusade had its birth in the village and has already breathed its infant breath throughout Christendom.
“Books have been written, voluminous reports have been made and eloquent speeches have been uttered as to the minute details of the origin of the Women’s Temperance Crusade in Hillsboro, and most of them are true in statement and in fact; but nowhere has pen ventured a description of the band – the cohort, the troupe. No! Rather the apparition of 70 women in sable black arrayed, and in settled line of march, moving as when first seen on the streets of Hillsboro.
“It was a dark, cloudy, cold and still December day, no sun shining from above, no wind playing around, a little snow leisurely dropping down, and under the magic command of their own leaders, chosen on the instant at the hurried previous organization at the Presbyterian church, the procession moved with solemn steps, as if each woman had been trained for that day’s work from the cradle.
“‘Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note,’ but the poetic mind instantly hummed the ‘Ode of Charles Wolfe at the Burial of Sir John Moore.’
“Husbands saw their wives, sons and daughters, their mothers and neighbors, their friends, moving along with the strange apparition and knew not what it meant, until before some liquor saloon or hotel or drugstore, you could hear the singing of some familiar hymn warble through the air in tones of the most touching note; and then, solemn silence prevailing up and down street, the utterance of a soul-stirring prayer made by some lady, with all others kneeling around on curbstone or pavement or door-sill, could be heard ascending to the throne of God to avert the curse of intemperance. No crowd of shouting boys followed; no cliques of consulting men on the street corners were gathered; every countryman halted his team in awe; no vociferous angry words were heard, and no officer commanded the peace – for it was death-like peace. Throughout the day, songs and prayers were heard at all places kept for the sale of liquors, and at night consultation was resumed at the church, from whence the ‘Phoenix-like body,’ springing from the ashes of the ‘funeral pyre’ of woman’s immolation, had emerged in the morning; and there, in making reports, prayer and singing in spirit as never before, was sung on Christmas Eve: ‘Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind.’
“They remained until the moon in the last quarter lighted their pathway to homes, whose inmates as spectators of the troupe when the first curtain was raised, stood around the hearth stones in as much wonder as if a company of celestial beings had on that day come down from the skies.
“Such is a dim outline of the first parade of the Women’s Temperance Crusade at Hillsboro; and well may it be said of the ‘opening of the heavens’ on that memorable day, that ‘He who made a decree for the rain and a way for the lightning’ will alone limit its effects on the nations of the earth.”
Let’s pause for now, and we’ll continue next week.
Steve Roush is a vice president of an international media company and a columnist and contributing writer for The Highland County Press.