Nineteenth century Americans loved a good political speech. They considered it fine entertainment. They traveled miles and miles to hear a worthy stemwinder. For formal speeches, wooden platforms were built so the orator could speak from an elevated position. Patriotic bunting was hung. At night torches were lit, casting a flickering light upon the scene. Sometimes the speaker simply mounted a tree stump and delivered a "stump speech." The audience felt cheated if the "speechifying" lasted less than three hours or so. But perhaps it was the ever present fiddle playing, barbeque and barrels of hard cider that really attracted the audience.
Clermont County was blessed with several first rate orators.
Thomas Morris of Bethel was an outstanding attorney. People came to the courthouse early to experience a Morris performance, knowing that late arrivals had to go into the courtyard. His booming voice rumbled around the room. Morris frequently laced his arguments with quotes from the Bible and William Shakespeare. Often the audience stood in awe of Morris, who later delivered his speeches on the floor of the United States Senate.
Charles "Boss" Huber was a powerfully built man, reflecting his years as a Williamsburg tanner and farmer. He was a committed abolitionist who wanted everyone to know it. Wherever there was a crowd, Huber was there with his well-used soap box. Standing on his box, Huber railed against the evils of slavery. He inevitably provoked arguments which sometimes became physical.
In the fall of 1840, Batavia hosted a large rally for William Henry Harrison for president. Huber set up his box and began ranting against the "peculiar institution". A man took exception to his comments, and threw a roundhouse punch that landed on Huber's chin. The fight, no doubt stoked by adult beverages, was on. It took a couple of hours and the intervention of the local militia to restore order.
And then there was James F. Sargent.
The Reverend James Sargent was a Methodist minister. He brought his family to Clermont County from Maryland in 1798 to escape the evils of slavery. Because of his anti-slavery viewpoints, he was chosen by the people of the county to represent them at the first Ohio Constitutional Convention in 1802. The reverend's nephew, James F. Sargent, continued his family's legacy of public service.
James F. grew up on Indian Creek in southern Clermont County. A contemporary reported that Sargent was "a worthy man, and greatly esteemed for his amiable traits". He was best known for his "intellect" and "was probably the most singularly gifted man in the county. With that he mastered the English language." In 1843 he was elected to the Ohio General Assembly.
Thomas Morris led jurors to his vision of justice. Charles Huber stirred the emotions of the people about the hot button issue of the day. James F. Sargent moved his audience to tears of unintended laughter.
Sargent always used a hundred dollar word when a five dollar word would do. It wasn't just that he would toss in a polysyllabic word here and there, he used them all the time. He quickly became known as "Dictionary Sargent".
One can just imagine his fellow legislators snickering as he held forth on the floor of the state House of Representatives. His fellow colleagues probably sat in Columbus taverns draining a tankard of ale and telling jokes at his expense. It appears that Sargent was oblivious to having become a distraction.
Sargent delivered a speech to the House about history. Let us sample one twenty-eight word sentence-a rhapsody of elocution from a four paragraph masterpiece. Reading more than one sentence leaves the reader with a headache:
It is only hieroglyphical dioptric commensurate with which we can focus to adjacent vision, so as to intelligibly ventilate the consentaneous affluence to the book of fate.
He said what?
What did it mean? A simple reading or two or three didn't yield much except the early warning signs of impending indigestion. Using 19th century technology, Noah Webster's American Dictionary of the English Language published in 1828, didn't help. This was becoming akin to a search for the Holy Grail.
There was one last chance to decipher the meaning of Sargent's utterance. We had to consult with the 21st century's oracle of everything: Artificial Intelligence. The bot spoke:
"It is not a standard English sentence and has no defined meaning. It appears to be a nonsensical string of technical and archaic words that are artificially combined."
Well, some things don't change. Politicians have always been gas bags.
James F. Sargent died in 1844 and is buried in Felicity.
