PART IV.

Oh, where’s the slave so lowly Condemn’d to chains unholy, Who could he burst His bonds at first Would pine beneath them slowly?

_Moore._

——Know ye not Who would be free, _themselves_ must strike the blow.

_Childe Harold._

What a world of inconsistency; as well as of wickedness, is suggested by the smooth and gliding phrase, AMERICAN SLAVE TRADE; and how strange and perverse is that moral sentiment which loathes, execrates, and brands as piracy and as deserving of death the carrying away into captivity men, women, and children from the _African coast_; but which is neither shocked nor disturbed by a similar traffic, carried on with the same motives and purposes, and characterized by even _more_ odious peculiarities on the coast of our MODEL REPUBLIC. We execrate and hang the wretch guilty of this crime on the coast of Guinea, while we respect and applaud the guilty participators in this murderous business on the enlightened shores of the Chesapeake. The inconsistency is so flagrant and glaring, that it would seem to cast a doubt on the doctrine of the innate moral sense of mankind.

Just two months after the sailing of the Virginia slave brig, which the reader has seen move off to sea so proudly with her human cargo for the New Orleans market, there chanced to meet, in the Marine Coffee-house at Richmond, a company of _ocean birds_, when the following conversation, which throws some light on the subsequent history, not only of Madison Washington, but of the hundred and thirty human beings with whom we last saw him chained.

“I say, shipmate, you had rather rough weather on your late passage to Orleans?” said Jack Williams, a regular old salt, tauntingly, to a trim, compact, manly-looking person, who proved to be the first mate of the slave brig in question.

“Foul play, as well as foul weather,” replied the firmly knit personage, evidently but little inclined to enter upon a subject which terminated so ingloriously to the captain and officers of the American slaver.

“Well, betwixt you and me,” said Williams, “that whole affair on board of the Creole was miserably and disgracefully managed. Those black rascals got the upper hand of ye altogether: and in my opinion, the whole disaster was the result of ignorance of the real character of _darkies_ in general. With half a dozen _resolute_ white men, (I say it not boastingly,) I could have had the rascals in irons in ten minutes, not because I’m so strong, but I know how to manage ’em. With my back against the _caboose_, I could, myself, have flogged a dozen of them; and had I been on board, by every monster of the deep, every black devil of ’em all would have had his neck stretched from the yard-arm. Ye made a mistake in yer manner of fighting ’em. All that is needed in dealing with a set of _darkies_, is to show that yer not afraid of ’em. For my own part, I would not honour a dozen niggers by pointing a gun at one of ’em,—a good stout whip, or a stiff rope’s end, is better than all the guns at Old Point to quell a _nigger_ insurrection. Why, sir, to take a gun to a _nigger_ is the best way you can select to tell him you are afraid of him, and the best way of inviting his attack.”

This speech made quite a sensation among the company, and a part of them intimated solicitude for the answer which might be made to it. Our first mate replied, “Mr. Williams, all that you’ve now said sounds very well _here_ on shore, where, perhaps, you have studied negro character. I do not profess to understand the subject as well as yourself; but it strikes me, you apply the same rule in dissimilar cases. It is quite easy to talk of flogging niggers here on land, where you have the sympathy of the community, and the whole physical force of the government, state and national, at your command; and where, if a negro shall lift his hand against a white man, the whole community, with one accord, are ready to unite in shooting him down. I say, in such circumstances, it’s easy to talk of flogging negroes and of negro cowardice: but, sir, I deny that the negro is, naturally, a coward, or that your theory of managing slaves will stand the test of _salt_ water. It may do very well for an overseer, a contemptible hireling, to take advantage of fears already in existence, and which his presence has no power to inspire; to swagger about, whip in hand, and discourse on the timidity and cowardice of negroes; for they have a smooth sea and a fair wind. It is one thing to manage a company of slaves on a Virginia plantation, and quite another thing to quell an insurrection on the lonely billows of the Atlantic, where every breeze speaks of courage and liberty. For the negro to act cowardly on shore, may be to act wisely; and I’ve some doubts whether _you_, Mr. Williams, would find it very convenient, were you a slave in Algiers, to raise your hand against the bayonets of a whole government.”

“By George, shipmate,” said Williams, “you’re coming rather _too_ near. Either I’ve fallen very low in your estimation, or your notions of negro courage have got up a buttonhole too high. Now I more than ever wish I’d been on board of that luckless craft. I’d have given ye practical evidence of the truth of my theory. I don’t doubt there’s some difference in being at sea. But a nigger’s a nigger, on sea or land; and is a coward, find him where you will; a drop of blood from one on ’em will skeer a hundred. A knock on the nose, or a kick on the shin, will tame the wildest ‘_darkey_’ you can fetch me. I say again, and will stand by it, I could, with half a dozen good men, put the whole nineteen on ’em in irons, and have carried them safe to New Orleans too. Mind, I don’t blame you; but I do say, and every gentleman here will bear me out in it, that the fault was somewhere, or them niggers would never have got off as they have done. For my part I feel ashamed to have the idea go abroad, that a ship-load of slaves can’t be safely taken from Richmond to New Orleans. I should like, merely to redeem the character of Virginia sailors, to take charge of a ship-load on ’em to-morrow.”

Williams went on in this strain, occasionally casting an imploring glance at the company for applause for his wit, and sympathy for his contempt of negro courage. He had, evidently, however, waked up the wrong passenger; for besides being in the right, his opponent carried that in his eye which marked him a man not to be trifled with.

“Well, sir,” said the sturdy mate, “you can select your own method for distinguishing yourself;—the path of ambition in this direction is quite open to you in Virginia, and I’ve no doubt that you will be highly appreciated and compensated for all your valiant achievements in that line; but, for myself, while I do not profess to be a giant, I have resolved never to set my foot on the deck of a slave ship, either as officer, or common sailor again; I have got enough of it.”

“Indeed! indeed!” exclaimed Williams, derisively.

“Yes, _indeed_,” echoed the mate; “but don’t misunderstand me. It is not the high value that I set upon my life that makes me say what I have said; yet I’m resolved never to endanger my life again in a cause which my conscience does not approve. I dare say _here_ what many men _feel_, but _dare not speak_, that this whole slave-trading business is a disgrace and scandal to Old Virginia.”

“Hold! hold on! shipmate,” said Williams, “I hardly thought you’d have shown your colours so soon,—I’ll be hanged if you’re not as good an abolitionist as Garrison himself.”

The mate now rose from his chair, manifesting some excitement. “What do you mean, sir,” said he, in a commanding tone. “_That man does not live who shall offer me an insult with impunity._”

The effect of these words was marked; and the company clustered around. Williams, in an apologetic tone said, “Shipmate! keep your temper. I meant no insult. We all know that Tom Grant is no coward, and what I said about your being an abolitionist was simply this: you _might_ have put down them black mutineers and murderers, but your conscience held you back.”

“In that, too,” said Grant, “you were mistaken. I did all that any man with equal strength and presence of mind could have done. The fact is, Mr. Williams, you underrate the courage as well as the skill of these negroes, and further, you do not seem to have been correctly informed about the case in hand at all.”

“All I know about it is,” said Williams, “that on the ninth day after you left Richmond, a dozen or two of the niggers ye had on board, came on deck and took the ship from you;—had her steered into a British port, where, by-the-bye, every woolly head of them went ashore and was free. Now I take this to be a discreditable piece of business, and one demanding explanation.”

“There are a great many discreditable things in the world,” said Grant. “For a ship to go down under a calm sky is, upon the first flush of it, disgraceful either to sailors or caulkers. But when we learn, that by some mysterious disturbance in nature, the waters parted beneath, and swallowed the ship up, we lose our indignation and disgust in lamentation of the disaster, and in awe of the Power which controls the elements.”

“Very true, very true,” said Williams, “I should be very glad to have an explanation which would relieve the affair of its present discreditable features. I have desired to see you ever since you got home, and to learn from you a full statement of the facts in the case. To me the whole thing seems unaccountable. I cannot see how a dozen or two of ignorant negroes, not one of whom had ever been to sea before, and all of whom were closely ironed between decks, should be able to get their fetters off, rush out of the hatchway in open daylight, kill two white men, the one the captain and the other their master, and then carry the ship into a British port, where every ‘_darkey_’ of them was set free. There must have been great carelessness, or cowardice somewhere!”

The company which had listened in silence during most of this discussion, now became much excited. One said, I agree with Williams; and several said the thing looks black enough. After the temporary tumultuous exclamations had subsided,—

“I see,” said Grant, “how you regard this case, and how difficult it will be for me to render our ship’s company blameless in your eyes. Nevertheless, I will state the fact precisely as they came under my own observation. Mr. Williams speaks of ‘ignorant negroes,’ and, as a general rule, they are ignorant; but had he been on board the _Creole_, as I was, he would have seen cause to admit that there are exceptions to this general rule. The leader of the mutiny in question was just as shrewd a fellow as ever I met in my life, and was as well fitted to lead in a dangerous enterprise as any one white man in ten thousand. The name of this man, strange to say, (ominous of greatness,) was MADISON WASHINGTON. In the short time he had been on board, he had secured the confidence of every officer. The negroes fairly worshipped him. His manner and bearing were such, that no one could suspect him of a murderous purpose. The only feeling with which we regarded him was, that he was a powerful, good-disposed negro. He seldom spake to any one, and when he did speak, it was with the utmost propriety. His words were well chosen, and his pronunciation equal to any schoolmaster. It was a mystery to us _where_ he got his knowledge of language; but as little was said to him, none of us knew the extent of his intelligence and ability till it was too late. It seems he brought three files with him on board, and must have gone to work upon his fetters the first night out; and he must have worked well at that; for on the day of the rising, he got the irons _off eighteen_ besides himself.

“The attack began just about twilight in the evening. Apprehending a squall, I had commanded the second mate to order all hands on deck, to take in sail. A few minutes before this I had seen Madison’s head above the hatchway, looking out upon the white-capped waves at the leeward. I think I never saw him look more good-natured. I stood just about midship, on the larboard side. The captain was pacing the quarter-deck on the starboard side, in company with Mr. Jameson, the owner of most of the slaves on board. Both were armed. I had just told the men to lay aloft, and was looking to see my orders obeyed, when I heard the discharge of a pistol on the starboard side; and turning suddenly around, the very deck seemed covered with fiends from the pit. The nineteen negroes were all on deck, with their broken fetters in their hands, rushing in all directions. I put my hand quickly in my pocket to draw out my jack-knife; But before I could draw it, I was knocked senseless to the deck. When I came to myself, (which I did in a few minutes, I suppose, for it was yet quite light,) there was not a white man on deck. The sailors were all aloft in the rigging, and dared not come down. Captain Clarke and Mr. Jameson lay stretched on the quarter-deck,—both dying,—while Madison himself stood at the helm unhurt.

“I was completely weakened by the loss of blood, and had not recovered from the stunning blow which felled me to the deck; but it was a little too much for me, even in my prostrate condition, to see our good brig commanded by a _black murderer_. So I called out to the men to come down and take the ship, or die in the attempt. Suiting the action to the word, I started aft. You murderous villain, said I, to the imp at the helm, and rushed upon him to deal him a blow, when he pushed me back with his strong, black arm, as though I had been a boy of twelve. I looked around for the men. They were still in the rigging. Not one had come down. I started towards Madison again. The rascal now told me to stand back. ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘your life is in my hands. I could have killed you a dozen times over during this last half hour, and could kill you now. You call me a _black murderer_. I am not a murderer. God is my witness that LIBERTY, not _malice_, is the motive for this night’s work. I have done no more to those dead men yonder, than they would have done to me in like circumstances. We have struck for our freedom, and if a true man’s heart be in you, you will honour us for the deed. We have done that which you applaud your fathers for doing, and if we are murderers, _so were they_.’

“I felt little disposition to reply to this impudent speech. By heaven, it disarmed me. The fellow loomed up before me. I forgot his blackness in the dignity of his manner, and the eloquence of his speech. It seemed as if the souls of both the great dead (whose names he bore) had entered him. To the sailors in the rigging he said: ‘Men! the battle is over,—your captain is dead. I have complete command of this vessel. All resistance to my authority will be in vain. My men have won their liberty, with no other weapons but their own BROKEN FETTERS. We are nineteen in number. We do not thirst for your blood, we demand only our rightful freedom. Do not flatter yourselves that I am ignorant of chart or compass. I know both. We are now only about sixty miles from Nassau. Come down, and do your duty. Land us in Nassau, and not a hair of your heads shall be hurt.’

“I shouted, _Stay where you are, men_,—when a sturdy black fellow ran at me with a handspike, and would have split my head open, but for the interference of Madison, who darted between me and the blow. ‘I know what you are up to,’ said the latter to me. ‘You want to navigate this brig into a slave port, where you would have us all hanged; but you’ll miss it; before this brig shall touch a slave-cursed shore while I am on board, I will myself put a match to the magazine, and blow her, and be blown with her, into a thousand fragments. Now I have saved your life twice within these last twenty minutes,—for, when you lay helpless on deck, my men were about to kill you. I held them in check. And if you now (seeing I am your friend and not your enemy) persist in your resistance to my authority, I give you fair warning, YOU SHALL DIE.’

“Saying this to me, he cast a glance into the rigging, where the terror-stricken sailors were clinging, like so many frightened monkeys, and commanded them to come down, in a tone from which there was no appeal; for four men stood by with muskets in hand, ready at the word of command to shoot them down.

“I now became satisfied that resistance was out of the question; that my best policy was to put the brig into Nassau, and secure the assistance of the American consul at that port. I felt sure that the authorities would enable us to secure the murderers, and bring them to trial.

“By this time the apprehended squall had burst upon us. The wind howled furiously,—the ocean was white with foam, which, on account of the darkness, we could see only by the quick flashes of lightning that darted occasionally from the angry sky. All was alarm and confusion. Hideous cries came up from the slave women. Above the roaring billows a succession of heavy thunder rolled along, swelling the terrific din. Owing to the great darkness, and a sudden shift of the wind, we found ourselves in the trough of the sea. When shipping a heavy sea over the starboard bow, the bodies of the captain and Mr. Jameson were washed overboard. For awhile we had dearer interests to look after than slave property. A more savage thunder-gust never swept the ocean. Our brig rolled and creaked as if every bolt would be started, and every thread of oakum would be pressed out of the seams. To the pumps! to the pumps! I cried, but not a sailor would quit his grasp. Fortunately this squall soon passed over, or we must have been food for sharks.

“During all the storm Madison stood firmly at the helm, his keen eye fixed upon the binnacle. He was not indifferent to the dreadful hurricane; yet he met it with the equanimity of an old sailor. He was silent, but not agitated. The first words he uttered after the storm had slightly subsided, were characteristic of the man. ‘Mr. mate, you cannot write the bloody laws of slavery on those restless billows. The ocean, if not the land, is free.’ I confess, gentlemen, I felt myself in the presence of a superior man; one who, had he been a white man, I would have followed willingly and gladly in any honourable enterprise. Our difference of colour was the only ground for difference of action. It was not that his principles were wrong in the abstract; for they are the principles of 1776. But I could not bring myself to recognize their application to one whom I deemed my inferior.

“But to my story. What happened now is soon told. Two hours after the frightful tempest had spent itself, we were plump at the wharf in Nassau. I sent two of our men immediately to our consul with a statement of facts, requesting his interference on our behalf. What he did, or whether he did anything, I don’t know; but, by order of the authorities, a company of _black_ soldiers came on board, for the purpose, as they said, of protecting the property. These impudent rascals, when I called on them to assist me in keeping the slaves on board, sheltered themselves adroitly under their instructions only to protect property,—and said they did not recognize _persons_ as _property_. I told them that, by the laws of Virginia and the laws of the United States, the slaves on board were as much property as the barrels of flour in the hold. At this the stupid blockheads showed their _ivory_, rolled up their white eyes in horror, as if the idea of putting men on a footing with merchandise were revolting to their humanity. When these instructions were understood among the negroes, it was impossible for us to keep them on board. They deliberately gathered up their baggage before our eyes, and, against our remonstrances, poured through the gangway,—formed themselves into a procession on the wharf,—bid farewell to all on board, and, uttering the wildest shouts of exultation, they marched, amidst the deafening cheers of a multitude of sympathising spectators, under the triumphant leadership of their heroic chief and deliverer, MADISON WASHINGTON.”

[Signature: Frederick Douglass.]

A PLEA FOR FREE SPEECH.

Give me leave to speak my mind.

_As You Like it._

The clamorous demand which certain patriotic gentlemen are just now making for perfect silence on the slavery question, strikes a quiet looker-on as something very odd. It might pass for a dull sort of joke, were it not that the means taken to enforce it, by vexatious prosecutions, political and social proscriptions, and newspaper assaults on private reputation, are beginning, in certain quarters, to assume a decidedly tragic aspect, and forcing upon all anti-slavery men the alternative of peremptorily refusing compliance, or standing meanly by to see others crushed for advocating _their_ opinions.

The question has been extensively, and I think very naturally raised, why these anti-agitation gentlemen do not keep silent themselves. For, strange as it may seem, this perilous topic is the very one which most of all appears to occupy their thoughts too, and is ever uppermost when they undertake to speak of the affairs of the country. They are in the predicament of the poor man in the Eastern fable, who, being forbidden, on pain of the genie’s wrath, to utter another cabalistic syllable, found, to his horror, that he could never after open his lips without their beginning perversely to frame the tabooed articulation. But not, as in his case, does fear chain up their organs. They speak it boldly out, proclaim it “the corner-stone” of their political creed, and do their best in every way, by speeches and articles, Union-safety pamphlets and National Convention platforms, to “keep it before the people.” And the object always is, to keep the people quiet! Surely, if the Union is _not_ strong enough to bear agitations, the special friends of the Union have chosen a singular way to save it.

I would by no means infer, that they are _altogether_ insecure in their professions of anxiety. The truth appears to be, however, that in so far as these professions are not a sheer pretence, got up by political men for political effect, our estimable fellow citizens have, all unwittingly, been obeying a higher law than that which they would impose on their neighbours,—a law, written in the very nature of the free soul. On this, the subject of the age, they must think, and cannot refrain from uttering their thoughts. “They believe, and _therefore_ have they spoken.” And it is a sufficient reply to their unanswerable demand for silence on the other side. “We _also_ believe, and therefore speak.” Pray, why not?

A certain ardent conservative friend of mine, to whom I once proposed this inquiry, made a short answer to it after this fashion:—“The abolitionists are all fools and fanatics. Whenever the idea of anti-slavery gets hold of a man, he takes leave of his common sense, and is thenceforth as one possessed. I would put a padlock on every such crazy fellow’s mouth.” My friend’s rule, it will be seen, is a very broad one; stopping the mouths of all who speak foolishly. Who will undertake to see it fairly applied? or who could feel quite free from nervousness in view of its possible operation? Under an infallible administration, I apprehend, many—some, perhaps, even of the most strenuous advocates of the law—might find themselves uncomfortably implicated, who at present hardly suspect the danger. “By’rlakin, a parlous fear! my masters, you ought to consider with yourselves!” I am constrained to confess, that in the very midst of my friend’s aforesaid patriotic diatribe against folly and fanaticism, and his plea for a summary fool-act, I could not keep out of my mind some wicked recollections of Horace’s lines:

_Communi sensu plane caret_, inquimus. Eheu! Quam temere in _nosmet_ legem sancimus iniquam!

It must in all candour be confessed, that there is something in the subject of slavery which, when fairly looked at and realized, is a little trying to one’s sanity. Even such intellects as John Wesley’s and Thomas Jefferson’s seem to stagger a little under a view of the appalling sum of iniquity and wretchedness which the word represents, and vent their excitement in terms not particularly measured. What wonder, then, if men of simpler minds should now and then be thrown quite off the balance, and think and say some things that are really unwise. I think, indeed, it will have to be confessed, that we have had fools and fanatics on both sides of the slavery question; and it is altogether among the probabilities, that such will continue to be the case hereafter. Still, until we have some infallible criterion to distinguish actual folly from that which foolish people merely think such, I fancy we must forego the convenience of my friend’s summary process, and, giving leave to every man to speak his mind, leave it to Time—great sifter of men and opinions—to separate between the precious and the vile.

It may be the kindness bred of a fellow feeling, but I must confess to a warm side towards my brethren of the motley tribe. While on the one hand I firmly hold with Elihu—who seems to have represented young Uz among the friends of Job—that “great men are not always wise.” I rejoice on the other hand in the concession of Polonius,—chief old Fogy of the court of Denmark,—that there is “a happiness which madness often hits on, that reason and sanity could not so prosperously be delivered of.” Folly and craziness, quotha! Did it, then, never occur to you, O Worldly Wiseman, that even your wisdom might be bettered by a dash of that which you thus contemptuously brand? Or does the apostle seem to you as one that driveleth, when he says, “If any man among you seemeth to be wise in this world, let him become a fool, that he may be wise?”

I have often admired the sagacity of our mediæval forefathers, in the treatment of their (so called) fools. They gave them a _special licence_ of the tongue; for they justly estimated the advantages which the truly wise know how to draw from the untrammelled utterances of any honest mind, especially of minds which, refusing to run tamely in the oiled grooves of prescriptive and fashionable orthodoxy, are the more likely, now and then, (where if only by accident,) to hit upon truths which others missed. Hence they maintained an “Independent Order” of the motley, whose only business it was freely to think and freely speak their minds. “I must have liberty withal,” says Jaques, aspiring to this dignity,

—“as free a charter as the wind, To blow on whom I please: for _so fools have_.”

And he adds, in a strain of admonition which certain contemporaneous events might almost lead one to consider prophetic—

“They that are most galled with my folly, They most must laugh. And why, sir, must they so? The _why_ is as plain as way to parish church. He that a fool doth very wisely hit, Doth very foolishly, although he smart, Not to seem senseless of the bob. If not, The wise man’s folly is anatomised Even by the squandering glances of the fool. * * What then? Let me see wherein My speech hath wronged him. If it do him right, Then he hath wronged himself; if he be free, Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies, Unclaimed of any man.”

Now if there be “fools in the nineteenth century,” as I devoutly hope there be,—men possessed with the belief of a Higher Law, Inalienable Rights, Supremacy of Conscience, and such like obsolete phantoms, and passing strange judgments on the deeds of men, and nations in the light thereof,—I beg to put in a similar plea for them. _Give them leave to speak their minds._ Now and then, it may be worth the pondering, and, heeded betimes, may, peradventure, save from calamity and ruin. If not, an attempt to _enforce_ silence on fools—and is it not much the same with freemen?—is likely to produce, not silence at all, but a greater outcry. And as for our great and wise men, when hit, let them conceal the smart, and profit by the lesson. But, for their own greatness’ sake, and the honour of their wisdom, whether hit or not, let them never fall into a passion at the freedom of men’s speech, and cry, _This must be put down_. For it will not down at their bidding.

But the subject refuses to be treated lightly. The vast interest at stake on both sides, and the immediate urgency of crisis, compel the mind to sobriety and solicitude in the contemplation of it. No truly wise man will look upon the anti-slavery doctrine as mere folly, or on the promulgation of it as idle breath. It is the measureless power of that sentiment, and all its power lies in its truth—that wakens this alarm; and it is the consciousness of holding such a weapon in their hands, that makes the anti-slavery masses at the North pause, lest, in attempting to use it for good, they should, unwittingly, do harm. For such a sentiment, who can fail to feel respect? Who would not despise himself if his own bosom were destitute of it? But, by as much as I respect it in others, and would cherish it in myself, by so much will I resent all playing upon it by political men for party or personal ends, and fear lest it betray me into pusillanimity and inertness where the times demand action for humanity and God. It _is_ a serious question for all honest anti-slavery men throughout the land, in what way they can most wisely and hopefully quit them of their responsibility in relation to this thing. Their actions as citizens should, unquestionably, be restricted by the just limits of their civil responsibility; as men by those of their moral responsibility. Even within those limits, they should act with a wise moderation, and in a generous spirit of candour and kindness. But one thing is abundantly certain, that by ignoring the responsibility, they do not get rid of it; by turning their backs on the obligation, they will not get it discharged. Still the terrible _fact_ remains. _Still the tears and blood of the enslaved are daily dropping on our country’s soil._ Throw over it what veil of extenuation and excuse you may, the essential crime and shame remains. Believe as kindly as you can of the treatment which the slaves receive of humane and Christian masters; it is only on condition that they first surrender their every _right_ as men. Let them dare demur to that, and their tears and blood must answer it. That is the terrible fact; and _our country_ is the abettor, the protector, and the agent of the iniquity. Must we be indifferent? May we be indifferent? It is a question of tremendous import to every freeman in the land, who honestly believes that the rights he claims as a man are common to the race.

We used to be told, and are sometimes still, that this is a matter which belongs to our Southern brethren exclusively, and that when we of the Free States interfere with it, we meddle with that which is “none of our business.” And there was a time, when this might be urged with a show of consistency. It was when slavery claimed only to be a creature of State legislation, and asked only of the national Government and the Free States to be let alone. Even then, it had no right of exemption from the rational scrutiny to which all human institutions are amenable, nor from the rebuke and denouncement which all men may, in Heaven’s name, utter against all iniquity done in the face of Heaven. But the _special_ right of republican citizens to demand the correction of wrongs done by _their own_ government, attached in the matter of slavery only to the citizens of the slave States.

But a wonderful change has been passing before our eyes. The attitude of slavery is entirely altered. It now claims to be nationalized. It demands a distinct recognition and active protection from the general government, and indirect, but most effectual support from every State in the Union, and from every citizen thereof! The government has acknowledged the validity of the claim; and our great political leaders—some on whom we have been wont to rely as stalwart champions of freedom—have turned short round in their tracks, and require us to believe that we are _under constitutional obligations_ to help maintain the accursed thing,—yea, through all future time, to do its most menial work! Nor is the doctrine to be left in the dubious region of speculation. It is already “a fixed fact,” terribly embodied in a penal law. It enters the home of every Northern freeman, and announces in thunder-tones this ancestral obligation, which had so strangely faded from the recollections of men. It tolerates no dulness of apprehension, no hesitancy of belief. It bids us all, on pain of imprisonments and fines, to conquer our prejudices, to swallow our scruples, to be still with our nonsensical humanities, and, “as good citizens,” to start out at the whistle of a United States’ constable, to chase down miserable negroes fleeing from the hell of bondage!

Slavery, then, has become _our_ business at last; and, as such, does it not behove us to attend to it? I think, in the language of honest Dogberry, that “that is proved already, and will go near to be thought so shortly.” The thing lies in a nut-shell. Millard Fillmore is not our master, but our servant. It is not his to prescribe duties, but ours; and his to perform them. What he does, in his own person and by his subordinate executive officers, he does for us, and on our responsibility. What he does or they do, in other words, WE do; and we must abide the reckoning. In this responsibility, the humblest citizen bears his share, and cannot shirk it if he would. When, then, I see the ministers of my country’s law consigning men with flesh and blood like my own, with homes and business, with wives and children,

As dear to them, as are the ruddy drops That visit their sad hearts,

men unaccused of crime, and eating the daily bread of honest labour—consigning them, I say, and their posterity to hopeless vassalage, and degrading chattelhood, by a process, too, which tramples under foot the most ancient and sacred guarantees of my own and my neighbour’s rights. When I see this great nation lay its terrible grasp upon the throat of a feeble, unoffending man, and thrust him back to worse than a felon’s fate for doing that which no casuistry can torture into a crime, I am compelled to feel that _it is myself_ engaged in this atrocious business; and no one but myself can rid me of the responsibility. I can no longer be silent; I dare no longer be silent; I will no longer be silent. I will remonstrate and cry, shame! I will refuse to obey the law; I will demand to be released, and to have my country released, from its odious requirements. I will vote, and influence voters, and use every prerogative of freedom, to throw at least from off my conscience a burden that it cannot bear. And who that is worthy to be free himself, will blame me? To speak is no longer a mere right; it has become a religious duty.

Let no man tell me, that this law is a mere dead letter. The old Fugitive Law, had, indeed, become so; and so would any other be likely to become, which, while grasping after the slave, should pay a decent respect to the rights of the free. But slavery cannot subsist on any such condition; and this law was framed to supply the deficiencies of the old law, _and to accomplish the thing_. It is based on the assumption that the government of the United States is bound to effect the rendition of fugitives, if possible at all, _at whatever cost_. And, if this law is insufficient, the assumption is equally good for still more stringent measures. But I repeat it, let no man tell me it is _now_ a nullity. Have we not seen it executed in our streets, and at our very doors? I chanced to be in the city of New York at the time when, I think, its first victim, Henry Long, was torn from his family, and from a reputable and profitable business, and sent back,—limbs, and brain, and throbbing, loving heart—the husband, father, friend, the peaceful and industrious member of society, all, to be the _property_ of a fellow-mortal in a hostile land. Could I look upon this crimeless man, thus in the grasp of the officers of my country’s laws, my own representatives, and hurried unresisting to that dreadful doom; and ever be able to believe the law innocuous, and myself guiltless while I acquiesced in silence? The rabble followed him along the streets, shouting in exultation at the negro’s fate. _Them_ I must acknowledge as my fellows and brethren, but _him_—on him I must put my heel, with theirs, to crush him out of manhood! And the morrow’s papers, edited by professed Christians, heralded the occurrence, with not even a decent pretence of pity and regret, but as a triumph of LAW, (O sacred name profaned!) in which all good men should rejoice. That day I felt a stifling sensation settling down upon me, of which my previous experience had afforded no precedent, and with an oppressive weight which no language can describe. _I felt that I no longer breathed the air of liberty;_ that slavery was spreading her upas branches athwart _my_ sky also. The convenient apology that the sin was not mine, but another’s, no longer stood me in stead; and I have wondered ever since to hear any honest Northern man employ it. There are Northern men, from whom nothing could surprise me.

And what have we since witnessed? The inferior officers of the law prowling throughout the North for victims on whom to enforce it. Their superiors, even to the highest, labouring by speeches and proclamations and journeyings to an fro in the land (is it too much to say?) to _dragoon_ the people into its support. The national treasury thrown wide open to meet its “extraordinary expenses.” Fanueil Hall hung in chains, to ensure its execution. Presidential candidates vieing with each other in expressions of attachment and fidelity to it. Able men, in Church and State, spotted for proscription for no other sin than hating that law, and daring to declare that hatred. And to crown the whole, the wisdom of the nation, in Baltimore Conventions once and again assembled, pronouncing the new doctrines of constitutional responsibility, with the law that embodies it, not only a certainty, but—(hear it, O heavens!) a _finality!_ A new word in the political vocabulary, and verily a new thing in the earth! “Finality,” in the legislation of freemen! A finality, that for ever precludes reconsideration, amendment, or repeal! When such things are said, and gravely said, by men professing to be American statesmen, I can almost imagine the fathers of my country turning painfully in their graves. And can it be possible, that in the same breath with which men assume to roll political responsibilities on freemen, they dare require perpetual silence and unconsidering submission thereto? Then, what is it to be free?

But let no one dream that these formidable pronouncements have any enduring force. It is natural, that Southern statesmen should seek, by every possible expedient, to keep out the flood of discussion from a system which can so illy bear it. And it is not strange, that Northern politicians should, for temporary purposes, assist them in the effort. This is for a day; but the great tide of human thought flows on for ever, and there is no spot from which it will be shut out. I remember when the right of petition was denied by our Southern brethren, in respect to this subject; and they found compliant tools enough from the North to work with for a season. But was the right of petition sacrificed? Of course not. And is the right of free discussion, the right to make and (if we please) unmake our laws less precious? This subject _will_ be agitated. This law will be reconsidered; and, if it is not repealed, it will be for the same reasons that ensures the continuance of other laws, namely, because it is able to sustain severe and ever recurring scrutiny.

But what is to become of the Union meanwhile? One thing is very certain. If it deliberately places itself in competition with those “blessings of liberty,” which it was created to “secure,” it _ought_ to fall. Shall the end be sacrificed to preserve the means, to which the end alone gives value? And what are we to think of the statesmanship of those, who, to effect that preservation, would force such an issue on a people nursed at the breasts of freedom? I would rather die than live a traitor to my country; but let me die _ten thousand_ deaths before I prove treacherous to freedom and to God. “If this be treason, make the most of it.”

But it is worse than idle to talk so. There is no such issue before the nation. We are not compelled to choose between disunion and slavery; a slavery, too, that would not only hold the black man in its remorseless gripe, but put its fetters on the conscience of the white man, and its gag into his mouth. Our Southern brethren themselves, even to save their cherished institution, would not dare, would not desire to press such an alternative. Were it so, who would not be ready to surrender the Union as valueless to him, and to part company with Southrons as men unworthy to be free? But it is not so. There are Hotspurs, doubtless, enough of them at the South; and Jehus, too many, at the North. And there are cunning politicians to stand between the two sections, and play upon the prejudices of both, and into each other’s hands, for selfish ends. But the great heart of the nation, North and South, on the whole and according to the measure of its understanding, beats true alike to freedom and the constitution,—true to that immortal sentiment which, as long as this nation endures, shall encircle its author’s name with a halo, in whose splendour some later words that have fallen from his lips will be happily lost and forgotten: “Liberty _and_ Union, now and for ever, one and inseparable.” Whatever differences there may be as to the nature, conditions, and obligations of freedom, or as to the intent and meaning of the constitution, no party among the people will refuse to submit them to the ordeal of discussion, and the arbitrament of the appointed tribunals.

While this is so, let him be deemed the traitor, who stands up before the world, and belies his country by declaring it to be otherwise. And let every man prepare to enter into those discussions which no human power can now stave off, in a spirit of intelligent candour and kindness, but, at the same time of inflexible fidelity to God and man.

[Signature: J. H. Raymond]

PLACIDO.

The true wealth and glory of a nation consist not in its gold dust, nor in its commerce, nor in the grandeur of its palaces, nor yet in the magnificence of its cities,—but in the intellectual and moral energy of its people. Egypt is more glorious because of her carrying into Greece the blessings of civilization, than because of her Pyramids, however wondrous, her lakes and labyrinths, however stupendous, or her Thebes, though every square marked a palace, or every alley a dome. Who hears of the moneyed men of Athens, of Rome? And who does _not_ hear of Socrates, of Plato, of Demosthenes, of Virgil, of Cicero? Are you in converse with him of the “Sea-girt Isle,” and would touch the chord that vibrates most readily in his heart?—then talk to him of Shakspeare, of Milton, of Cowper, of Bacon, of Newton; of Burns, of Scott. To the intelligent son of the “Emerald Isle,” talk of Curran, of Emmett, of O’Connell.

Great men are a nation’s vitality. Nations pass away,—great men, never. Great men are not unfrequently buried in dungeons or in obscurity; but they work out great thoughts for all time, nevertheless. Did not Bunyan work out a great thought all-vital and vitalizing, when he lay twelve years in Bedford jail, weaving his tagged lace, and writing his Pilgrim’s Progress? The greatest man in all America is now in obscurity. It is he who is “_the Lord of his own soul_,” on whose brow wisdom has marked her supremacy, and who, in his sphere, moves

“Stilly as a star, on his eternal way.”

A great writer hath said, “Nature is stingy of her great men.” I do not believe it. God doeth all his work fitly and well; how, therefore, could he give us great men, not plentifully, but stingily? The truth is, there are great men, and they are plentiful,—plentiful for the times, I mean,—but we do not see them, because we will not come into the sun-light of truth and rectitude where, and where only, dwelleth greatness.

Placido was a great man. He was a great poet besides. He was a patriot, also,—how could he be otherwise? Are not all poets patriots?

“Adios Mundo,” cried he, as with tear-bedimmed eyes he looked up into the blue heavens above him, and upon the green earth beneath him; and upon the portals of the universe read wisdom, majesty, and power. Was there no poetry in this outburst of a full heart, and in this looking upward to heaven? “Adios Mundo,” cried he, as now beholding, for the last time, the home of his love,—he bared his bosom to the death-shot of the soldiers.

Great was Placido in life,—he was greater still in death. His was the faith which fastens itself upon the EVERLASTING I AM.

Call you that greatness which Pizarro achieved when, seizing a sword and drawing a line upon the sand from east to west, he himself facing the south, he said to his band of pirates—“_Friends, comrades, on that side are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching storm, desertion, and death; on this side, ease and pleasure. There lies Peru with its richness; here Panama with its poverty. Choose each man what best becomes a brave Castillian. For my part I go to the south_;”—suiting the action to the word? So do I,—but look ye, this is merely the greatness of overwhelming energy and concentrated purpose, not illuminated by a single ray of light from the Divine. See here, how Placido dwarfeth Pizarro when he thus prayeth,

“God of unbounded love, and power eternal! To Thee I turn in darkness and despair; Stretch forth Thine arm, and from the brow infernal Of calumny the veil of justice tear!

· · · · · O, King of kings!—my father’s God!—who only Art strong to save, by whom is all controlled,— Who giv’st the sea its waves, the dark and lonely Abyss of heaven its light, the North its cold, The air its currents, the warm sun its beams, Life to the flowers, and motion to the streams:

All things obey Thee; dying or reviving As Thou commandest; all apart from Thee, From Thee alone their life and power deriving, Sink and are lost in vast eternity!

· · · · ·

O, merciful God! I cannot shun Thy presence, For through its veil of flesh, Thy piercing eye Looketh upon my spirit’s unsoiled essence, As through the pure transparence of the sky; Let not the oppressor clap his bloody hands, As o’er my prostrate innocence he stands.

· · · · ·

But if, alas, it seemeth good to Thee That I should perish as the guilty dies, Still, fully in me, Thy will be done, O God!”

Placido had a symmetrically developed character. All great men have this. His intellectual and moral nature blended harmoniously as

“Kindred elements into one.”

An ancient philosopher hath said that the passions and the soul are placed in the same body, so that the passions might have ready opportunity to persuade the soul to become subservient to their purpose. A terrible conflict. And yet through it Placido passed triumphantly.

Placido was born a slave on the island of Cuba, on the plantation of Don Terribio De Castro. The year of his birth I am unable to give, but it must have been somewhere between the years 1790 and 1800. He was of African origin. But little is known of his earliest days save that he was of gentle demeanor, and wore an aspect which, though mild, indicated the working of great thoughts within. He was allowed some little advantage of education in his youth, and he evinced great poetic genius. The prayer just quoted was composed by him while he lay in prison, and repeated on his way from his dungeon to his place of execution.

The Heraldo, a leading journal of Havanna, thus spoke of him after his arrest:—

“Placido is a celebrated poet,—a man of great genius, but too wild and ambitious. His object was to subdue Cuba, and make himself the chief.”

The following lines, also, were found inscribed upon the walls of his dungeon. They were written on the day previous to his execution.

“O Liberty! I wait for thee, To break this chain, and dungeon bar; I hear thy voice calling me, Deep in the frozen North, afar, With voice like God’s, and vision like a star.

Long cradled in the mountain wind, Thy mates, the eagle and the storm: Arise; and from thy brow unbind The wreath that gives its starry form, And smite the strength, that would thy strength deform.

Yet Liberty; thy dawning light, Obscured by dungeon bars, shall cast A splendour on the breaking night, And tyrants, flying thick and fast, Shall tremble at thy gaze, and stand aghast.”

In poetic feeling, patriotic spirit, living faith, and withal in literary beauty, these lines are not surpassed; and they cannot fail to rank Placido not only with the great-hearted, but with the gifted men of the earth. A tribute to his genius is recorded in the fact, that he was ransomed from slavery by the contributions of slave-holders of Cuba.

Placido was executed on the 7th of July, 1844. On the first fire of the soldiers, no ball entered his heart. He looked up, but with no spirit of revenge, no aspect of defiance,—only sat upon his countenance the desire to pass at once into the region where no death is.

“Pity me,” said he, “and fire here,”—putting his hand upon his heart. Two balls then entered his body, and Placido fell.

As Wordsworth said of Touissant, so may it be said of Placido,—

“Thou hast left behind thee Powers that work for thee; air, earth, and skies. There’s not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies, Thy friends are exultations, agonies, A love, and man’s unconquerable mind.”

The charge against Placido was, that he was at the head of a conspiracy to overthrow slavery in his native island. Blessings on thee, Placido! Nor didst thou fail of thy mission. Did the martyrs, stake-bound, fail of theirs? As the Lord liveth, Cuba shall yet be free.

That Placido was at the head of this conspiracy there is not a doubt; but what his plans in detail were, I know not; the means of acquiring them are not within my reach. Nevertheless, from the treatment throughout of the Cuban authorities towards Placido, we may safely conclude that Placido’s plan in detail evinced no lack of ability to originate and execute, nor of that sagacity which should mark a revolutionary leader. Placido hated slavery with a hatred intensified by the remembrance of wrongs which a loving and loved mother had borne. The iron, too, had entered into his own soul; and he had been a daily witness of scenes such as torment itself could scarcely equal, nor the pit itself outdo. Call you this extravagance? You will not,—should you but study a single chapter in the history of Cuban slavery.

Do you honour Kossuth?—then forget not him who is worthy to stand side by side with Hungary’s illustrious son.

What may be the destiny of Cuba in the future near at hand, I will not venture to predict. What may be her _ultimate_ destiny is written in the fact that,—“God hath no attribute which, in a contest between the oppressed and the oppressor, can take sides with the latter.”

This sketch, though hastily written, and meagre in detail as it must necessarily be, will show, at least, by the quotations of poetry introduced, that God hath not given to one race alone, all intellectual and moral greatness.

[Signature: Wm G. Allen]

TO THE FRIENDS OF NEGRO EMANCIPATION.

The following powerful Appeal, reprinted from the “_Uncle Tom’s Cabin Almanack_,” will not, it is hoped, be deemed an inappropriate termination of this most interesting Volume:

Many of the interpreters of prophecy consider that England is one of “the ten horns” of the beast, or Roman power, referred to by the Apostle John. It is also allowed that, in the highly figurative and varied language of Scripture, the monster of the Apocalypse is the same as the image of Daniel, whose feet were partly strong and partly fragile. In a being that has to stand, walk, fight, and run, very much depends upon the lower members. The physical man of Louis XVIII. was very kingly as far as his hips, but his extremities were feeble, and it was a poor affair when he attempted to walk. Now this is the very spirit of Daniel’s description of the Roman power. It had no good legs and feet to stand upon, for they were part of iron and part of clay, partly strong and partly fragile. As a limb of old Rome, we are at present in this very predicament. Thank God, we have a great deal of “_iron_” among us, both metallic, mental, and moral; but we have an enormous quantity of the old Pagan “_clay_,” and hence our strength and our weakness.

Passing over a host of subjects which might illustrate what we have just stated, we now refer only to the _slavery question_. Here we are strong, and we are also feeble. The twenty millions we paid for the emancipation of our slaves in the West Indies was one of the most generous acts of the nation, especially if we consider the burden of taxation under which we were then groaning. Such a sacrifice at the shrine of cupidity, for the noble and glorious object of bursting the yoke of the captive, exhibited no small degree of moral principle and power. But some beheld in this munificent price the “clay” blended with the “iron.” Not a few of the anti-slavery labourers were growing tired of the agitation. The task had been an arduous one—had demanded considerable toil and incurred much odium. The philanthropists were stigmatised as “_the saints_,” as “_canting hypocrites_,” and by other terms equally expressive of the ire and malignity of their opponents; and while there were numbers among us who were willing to suffer any kind of martyrdom in this good cause, there was a still greater multitude who had been galvanised, rather than vitally quickened into activity, and longed, from the inert characters of their hearts and benevolence, to relapse again into their wonted apathy. The money therefore was paid down quite as much to release these worried philanthropists from travail, as to meet any supposed equitable claim of the slave-holder; and no sooner was the contract of emancipation sealed than these soldiers of humanity threw off their armour, and retired from the fray; and hence, though slavery has been abolished in our colonies, it has been allowed to vegetate and grow in the United States and elsewhere.

Now all this showed that we were not sound at heart. Because the negroes perishing under the iron sceptre of the American Republican were just as much “our bone and our flesh” as the victims of West Indian bondage. It is true we had more control over the condition of the one than the other, because the one was our fellow-subject, and the other was not; but still this very fact, instead of being a reason for inactivity, ought to have furnished a motive for more energetic operations. Even the brutish horse puts forth extra strength when the burden increases, or when a hill is to be climbed; and we need scarcely add that generally among beasts and men the greater the foe the more vigorous the effort to overcome him; but, strange to say, in the anti-slavery cause, we reversed this common mode of proceeding, and, because the enemy was powerful, our exertions to vanquish him became proportionably feeble! We know that many will ask what could we have done? But then the very question betrays the state of their hearts. True philanthropy is never at a loss for expedients to accomplish her benevolent purpose, and therefore never retires because there is a lion or a mountain in the way. Its faith can stop the mouth of the one, or slay him altogether, and remove the other into the midst of the sea. Before we close this paper, we shall, perhaps, show that if we had not been weary in well doing, we might have brought an immense amount of influence against American slavery, which, long before this, would have produced the most happy results.

There was one circumstance which especially contributed to paralyse our efforts for the emancipation of American slaves. Just about the time that we liberated our brethren in the British colonies, we heard a great deal about revivals of religion in the United States, and we were told that the Spirit from on high was poured out on transatlantic churches and congregations in almost Pentecostal abundance; and what was more astonishing, the slave-holders were said to be remarkably favoured with these supposed tokens of Divine favour. The writer remembers that in those days, when he was about to offer some remarks at an anti-slavery meeting, he was called aside by a minister of religion, and especially reminded of the great piety of many of the slave-owners, and therefore exhorted to be very tender in his animadversions! He was allowed to be as severe as he pleased on the poor ignorant, blind, dead, unconverted traffickers in human flesh! but the enlightened, pious, spiritual holders of slaves were, forsooth, to be treated with the utmost lenity!! Our Saviour’s rule was thus to be reversed; for he who knew his Lord’s will and did things worthy of stripes, was to be beaten with _few_ stripes! but he who knew _not_ his Lord’s will, was to be beaten with _many_ stripes!!

That the people of England should have allowed themselves to be duped in this manner, is almost equal to an eighth wonder of the world. Why, there is as great probability that the Holy Spirit will be poured out upon Satan as upon men and women who for “paltry pelf” hold their brethren in bondage. Had such a phenomenon taken place, the very first fruit would have been the breaking “of every yoke.” Strange that people who read the New Testament should have supposed that the Holy Ghost could have been granted to the worst of tyrants without destroying their tyranny and rendering them abolitionists. A real Christian man never “confers with flesh and blood.” Poverty, dungeons, racks, losses, and tortures of every kind, are cheerfully endured in the cause of humanity, justice, liberty, and religion, and therefore a slave-holder endued with the special influences of the Holy Spirit would instantly have braved penury and death rather than have continued to retain in bondage his poor brethren and sisters.

The sum and substance of all true religion is love to God and love to man, and when the Spirit is poured out on any individual or body of individuals, he sheds abroad the love of God in the heart; and this invariably exhibits itself in benevolence of life. The apostle John is plain even to what some would call bluntness on this matter. “If a man say ‘I love God,’ and hateth his brother, he is a _liar_: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? And this commandment have we from him, that he who loveth God, loves his brother also.” Now the negro is both “_neighbour_” and “_brother_” to his master, and unless his owner loves him as he loves himself, he has no real religion, and not one particle of evidence that the Spirit has been poured out upon him, or that the love of God has been shed abroad in his heart by the Holy Ghost. It was therefore the height of absurdity to talk of a revival of religion in the heart of any one so long as he held his brother in bondage; because he does not love him as he loves himself, and consequently is a stranger to the love of God and to vital Christianity. Love to our brother, prompting us to give him equal rights and blessings with ourselves, whatever may be his colour or country, is a perfect window to the soul, and renders the heart transparent. On the contrary, the plain language of John, which we have just quoted, assures us that every individual who professes to love God while he does not love his brother, is “a _liar_.” And it must be remembered that the love of which John speaks is not that sickly sort of charity which will bestow a few pence or privileges on a brother while we rob him of liberty and his natural rights, but it is that “perfect love” which loves every human being as we love ourselves, and will make any sacrifice for the purpose of developing this love.

We may congratulate the real friends of emancipation on the progress of public opinion in this affair. Our churches refuse communion with slave-holders. We deny their Christianity. Their deeds show that they are strangers to the love of God. They have not learnt the A B C of the Gospel: they sacrifice everything to gain. Mammon is their god, and to enrich themselves and their families they traffic in human flesh and blood. They do violence to every natural affection which Jehovah has implanted in the human soul, and thus offer one of the greatest insults to the Majesty of Heaven. The great curse of the slave is that God has created him a human being. He suffers severely from the chain, the scourge, and other instruments of cruelty; but the greatest of all torments is his possession of a heart. Slaves, to be happy, ought to be created without any susceptibilities. Love is the cement of society, and the angel which blesses all the relations of life. A world of love would be a second paradise, and the bright reflection of heaven and of the Deity. “God is love.” No tongue can tell, no heart can conceive the unspeakable blessings and joys which spring from the tender affections of parents, children, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, and friends. What would life be without these? God has so constituted us that there can be no real happiness without love; and yet this precious feeling, which comes to us fresh from the heart of the Deity, constitutes the Negro’s hell upon earth. Talk of racks, dungeons, thumb-screws, and other tortures of the Inquisition, slavery embodies them all. To tear relatives from relatives, and friends from friends; to sever the brother from the sister, the husband from the wife, and the child from its mother, inflicts far more suffering on the soul than any outward scourge can lay on the body. Consequently slavery is the monster of monsters, and the slave-holder is the head and chief of all tyrants who have ever cursed the world. He shall therefore no longer stand before us in the garb of Christianity, but shall be exhibited to the world as the lowest, worst, and basest of all criminals, and as such he shall be refused the right hand of fellowship, and expelled from the pale of the Christian Church.

Nothing has ever augured better for the cause of emancipation than the popularity of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” The benevolent authoress has thrown so many bewitching charms into her narrative, that she has fascinated every one, and may justly be called the Enchantress of the age. She is read by all ranks and classes. We are amused everywhere by the sight of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” We meet the little British National Schoolboy going home and reading his “Uncle Tom,” as affording him greater amusement than his hoop, his top, or his marbles. And we find the grave divine and scholar, in the first-class railway carriage, with his more costly “Uncle Tom.” We see the lady in her chariot, who has gone out for a ride to enjoy the scenery, and taste the breeze of heaven, beguiled from surrounding objects by the touching pages of Mrs. Stowe. We have witnessed a whole family of children to turn from every other pursuit and amusement to enjoy this mental and moral treat. It has come with them to their meals, and yielded them such a repast that the luxuries of the table were almost unheeded. And then the servants also sought it at every interval, and read it with avidity by stealth. In a word, it is the favourite of the saint and the sinner, the sage and the frivolous, the believer and the unbeliever, the young and the old, the grave and the gay, the learned and the illiterate, the rude and the polished, the sad and the cheerful. And nothing could be more opportune for the cause of humanity. Mrs. Stowe must hereafter take her stand by the side of Clarkson, Wilberforce, and others, as one of the chief instruments raised up by Providence to burst the fetters of the slave, and let the oppressed go free.

We trust, indeed we feel sure, that the slumbering embers of anti-slavery zeal will, by means of this volume, be kindled into active power. We have influence enough among us to move the world on this topic, and all that we require is cooperation and union. The pulpit, the press, and the platform must speak out once more, and by its thunders shake the whole world of slavery. Already the old theme is firing the British heart. Week after week the _Morning Advertiser_ appeals and instructs and arouses. Nor has it laboured in vain. Far and near the friends of the slave look to it as their tower of strength. In America we have a goodly number of abolitionists as our fellow-helpers, and “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” will increase them a thousandfold. The book speaks to the intellect, the reason, and the heart. Women are said to possess an innate power of arriving at truth, without employing the tedious metaphysics of men, and here we have a glorious example. In “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” we have logic stripped of its dryness, and clothed with all the charms of romance. We would as soon believe in the power of the planters to reverse the revolutions of the planets as to resist the influence of Mrs. Stowe. The voice of humanity is the voice of God, and is essentially omnipotent. As a punishment for not having listened to this divine oracle, the slave-holders must have the humiliation of being vanquished by a woman. And, after all, what more natural than that the woes of our race should owe their softest, sweetest, and consequently most powerful, utterances to the heart of the sex which was created to bless the world with its tenderest sympathies.

We are thus placed on a vantage ground from which it would be base to retire, especially as we have been raised thus high by the talent and benevolence of a female. Christian chivalry has now open before it a race of glory, compared with which the tilts and tournaments of the olden time are the veriest trifles. The whole country is baptised with anti-slavery zeal, just ready to burst forth in every possible way to emancipate the slave. We must have public meetings everywhere.

The “braying of Exeter Hall,” like the ass of Balaam, has, in ten thousand instances, rebuked the madness of our modern false prophets, who, from love of filthy lucre, have gone forth to curse God’s Israel, because they have left the house of bondage. It is only for the friends of humanity once more to gird themselves for their work, and in a few years there will be another and more extensive triumph over the foes of liberty and the negro.

We can also expostulate. The life of William Allen shows how powerful the voice of an unofficial individual may be, when that voice is the voice of reason, justice, and philanthropy. He brought the tyrants of Europe on their knees before the Majesty of Heaven, and there constrained them to ameliorate the laws which oppressed their subjects. Why should not the diplomacy of England be christianised? If this had been done years ago, we might have converted Napoleon into a man of peace, and saved the nation a thousand millions of taxation. Humanity is the genius of economy. Christian diplomacy would long ago have burst the fetters of the continent, and could now effect wonders in every part of the globe. It is left with the electors to say, whether foreign ambassadors, consuls, &c., shall continue to be the mere minions of mammon, or become the missionaries of justice and philanthropy. But supposing we failed here, there is power beyond that of bureaucratic officials; the denunciations we utter against the rulers of the slave will be carried by the birds of the air to the ears of these tyrants, and make their hearts quiver and knees shake like those of Belshazzar. The words of justice require no patent from courts to render them authoritative. The stamp of Heaven is upon them, and though spoken by a Paul in chains, they pierce the hearts of despots and make them tremble. We mistake if we suppose that conscience is altogether dead in the souls of slave-holders. Heaven has decreed that the wretch who is deaf to the small still voice of duty and mercy, shall be horrified by the thunders of guilt, and feel a hell within. “Haley,” hoping to cheat the devil when he has made his fortune; and “Legree” trembling for fear of ghosts and hobgoblins, are no creatures of fiction, but the truthful delineations of the conscious degradation and forebodings of the trader in human blood.

And further, cannot _consistency_ utter a plea? There is nothing, perhaps, at which men labour more earnestly than to appear consistent. But what fellowship can there be between liberty and slavery? Slavery is a foul blot on the escutcheon of the United States; and every patriotic American feels it to be so. Here, in the land of liberty, Freedom receives her deepest wound in the house of her vaunting friends. The enemies of tyranny over the world are taunted with the despotism of the American democrat. The infidel of our day draws his most potent arguments from the vices and faults of professing Christians; and the advocates of despotism act in the same manner, and procure their artillery from the barbarism of American slave-holders. We must then assail this inconsistency until the guilty parties blush and are ashamed. The continual dropping of water will wear away stones, and the persevering reiterations of truth shall eventually prevail, and make even slave-holders relent and listen to the voice of consistency and humanity.

We have had among us glorious specimens of what the slave can be. To those who talk of his inferior powers and limited rights, we point to such men as Frederick Douglass, Wells Brown, Henson, Garnett, and Dr. Pennington. It was our privilege to enter the hall at Heidelberg, just as the academy conferred on Dr. Pennington his diploma. And is this the man that the slave-holder would sell as he would a horse or bullock? What is the reply of humanity to this question? I need not dwell on the mind, talents, and piety of Brown, Henson, or Garnett. The country has long since borne witness to these. Exeter-hall has often resounded with the loftiest strains of eloquence, but never has it listened to a more intellectual, eloquent, and soul-stirring tongue, than that of Frederick Douglass, and yet this is the man, on whose head the planters have set a price, because he obeyed the voice of nature and of God in running away from the horrors of slavery. But why advance these examples? There is not a field of slaves, a slave-market, or a negro cabin, but proclaims the equality of the African with the rest of the human family. The tears, cries, and broken hearts which every separation by the dealer occasions, proclaim that the sympathies of the slave are equal to those of the rest of mankind. Every argument used by these sons and daughters of bondage, every prayer they offer, every speech they make, and every sermon they preach, prove that all the essentials of soul belong to them in as much native richness as to us. ’Tis true everything has been done to degrade them. The cruelties practised by Simon the cobbler to deprave and demoralise the Dauphin of France, and which awakened the execration of the world, are every day being followed by the planters of America. What if any of us had had the sphere of our knowledge contracted to the smallest span, and our language confined to a few words of the most outlandish _patois_, is there one man among us that would surpass them in their present condition? Where would Milton, Shakspeare, or Newton have been under such training? Considering the debasing education to which they have been doomed, the slaves are our equals, if not our superiors; every part of their history shows the truth of the words of our poet—

“Fleecy locks and black complexion, Cannot forfeit Nature’s claim; Skins may differ, but affection Dwells in black and white the same;

Deem our nation brutes no longer, Till some reason ye shall find, Worthier of regard and stronger Than the colour of our kind.

Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings Tarnish all your boasted powers, Prove that you have human feelings Ere you proudly question ours.”

The passing of “The Fugitive Slave Bill” adds strength to our cause. This measure has shocked every human heart; it has libelled humanity; it has sunk the Republican below most of the tyrants that have ever scourged society; it has insulted the world, and blasphemed the Eternal. It commands and compels free men to become informers and kidnappers, and thus degrades them below the meanest of our race. It is an attempt to render freedom the slave of slavery. A viler law has never degraded any statute book. However, its iniquity and its cruelty have aroused thousands to action who before were asleep; and when the history of the emancipation of American slaves shall be written, the narrator will triumphantly relate that the infamous “Fugitive Slave Bill” very greatly hastened this glorious consummation.

We have also another material aid in the clerical teachings of pro-slavery priests and preachers. We shall hereafter have to thank Dr. Spring, of New York; Dr. Parker, of Philadelphia; Dr. Stuart, of Andover; Dr. Spencer, of Brooklyn; the Right Rev. Bishop Hopkins, of Vermont; and a host of other reverends; for their advocacy of the cause of slavery. This outrage on Christianity by its own ministers has shocked the whole Christian world. Even the planters despise these sycophants. To hear men in the sacred desk, and in the name of the Redeemer of the world, advocate a system which cherishes ignorance, vice, debauchery, dishonesty, and murder, out-Herods anything that was ever taught by the most depraved heathens and infidels. Even Pagans had their dark groves and other midnight recesses for their sensual orgies. No atheist or barbarian has yet taught that the infant should be torn from the breast of its mother, and sold like a swine to the murderous dealer in human flesh. It was left for the 19th century, and doctors of divinity in a Christian garb, to arrive at this decree of blasphemy, impiety, and immorality. Well, we thank them for their teachings, we congratulate them for their boldness in iniquity, and we will repeat their sayings until we make every ear in Christendom tingle with their presumption and inhumanity.

We have thus briefly shown that the friends of the slave have every thing on their side, and may now make a noble stand in the cause of liberty. Providence is remarkably appearing on their behalf, and pointing out the path of duty and victory. “Is not the Lord gone up before us.” As far as England is concerned, the odium of an anti-slavery movement has passed away. “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” has rekindled the zeal of the lukewarm, and baptized with holy fire myriads who before cared nothing for the negro. Let us only do our duty, and this foul blot on humanity and daring insult to the Deity shall ere long become the history of a by-gone age; and a few years hence the system shall be deemed too monstrous to be believed but as a myth of some misanthrope who felt a malignant pleasure in libelling his species.

[ENTERED AT STATIONERS’ HALL.]

John Cassell, Ludgate-hill.

Footnote 1:

A son of that distinguished friend of humanity, WILLIAM WILBERFORCE.

Footnote 2:

“Take counsel, execute judgment; make thy shadow as the night in the midst of the noon-day; hide the outcasts; bewray not him that wandereth. Let my outcasts dwell with thee, Moab; be thou a covert to them, from the face of the spoiler.”—Isaiah xvi. 3, 4.

Footnote 3:

“Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, ye did it not to me.”—_Jesus Christ._ Matt. xxv. 45.

Footnote 4:

“Is it not that thou deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house? when thou seest the naked that thou cover him? and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?” “If thou take away from the midst of thee the yoke, the putting forth of the finger, and speaking of vanity,” &c.—Isaiah lviii. 6–9.

Footnote 5:

“Therefore, all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them; for this is the law and the prophets.”—_Jesus Christ._ Matt. vii. 12.

Footnote 6:

“Thou shalt not deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee. He shall dwell with thee; even among you in that place which he shall choose, in one of thy gates, where it liketh him best; thou shalt not oppress him.”—Deut. xxiii. 15, 16.

Footnote 7:

“Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.”—Lev. xix. 18; Matt. xix. 19.

Footnote 8:

“Hearken unto me, ye that know righteousness; the people in whose heart is my law: fear yet not the reproach of men, neither be ye afraid of their revilings. For the moth shall eat them up like a garment, and the worm shall eat them like wool; but my righteousness shall be for ever, and my salvation from generation to generation.”—Isaiah li. 7, 8.

Footnote 9:

“Ye that love the Lord, hate evil.”—Ps. xcvii. 10. “The fear of the Lord is to hate evil.”—Prov. viii. 13.

Footnote 10:

“Who art thou, that thou shouldst be afraid of a man? * * * And forgettest the Lord thy Maker, * * * and has feared continually every day, because of the fury of the oppressor, as if he were ready to destroy? And where is the fury of the oppressor?”—Isa. li. 12, 13, 14.

Footnote 11:

“We ought to obey God rather than men.”—Acts v. 29.

Footnote 12:

“The captive exile hasteth that he maybe loosed,” &c.—Isa. li. 15.

Footnote 13:

Haynau.

Footnote 14:

Editor of the _Glasgow Courier_. Poor Motherwell! I have it from a mutual friend that he sympathised _with_ the cause of Freedom, while paid to write against it.

Footnote 15:

Daniel Webster’s oration, at the laying the corner-stone of Bunker Hill Monument, 17 June, 1825.

Footnote 16:

Daniel Webster’s speech in the Senate of the U. S., 7 March, 1850.

Footnote 17:

Daniel Webster’s speech at the Capron Springs, Virginia, 1851.

Footnote 18:

It is vain to say that rich governments cannot, and do not, offer effective temptations to clever and eloquent men, whose religious views differ from the national form, to induce them to adopt the latter.

Footnote 19:

Congress, the legislative department, and, of course, the judicial, its interpreter, were intended to be founded on such undoubted principles of liberty, that it would be difficult for them to use their everywhere acknowledged rights, and perform their everywhere expected duties, without first putting aside the strongest impediment to their exercise—slavery. In our judgment this has been done. There is no truth in public law more certain than that protection and allegiance are reciprocal. They must exist together or not at all. The power of the United States is adequate for the protection of all within her limits, and from all within them she expects allegiance. If she is informed, in any way to be relied on, that any person is restrained of his rights under the constitution of the United States, it is her duty to see him set at liberty, if he be confined, and see that he is redressed. It is in vain for Congress to excuse itself from acting, by saying that it is a State concern. Can a citizen of the United States, if he be a citizen, be tortured or tormented by a State, when there is no pretence that he has violated the law of either?

The constitution of the United States authorises no man to hold another as a slave. The United States has no power to hold a slave. It matters not that it was _intended_ to allow some to hold others as their slaves. A very vile person may _intend_ to lock up in prison an innocent and just one, but through mistake he leaves the door unlocked; does this, in the eyes of any reasonable men, prevent his making his escape through the door? We are certain not. The only proper inquiry here is, which is supreme, the government of the Union, or the government of a particular State of it? It is not necessary to answer this. If the first deal with no one as a slave, the subordinate cannot by law. Persons may be held as slaves by fraud, by cunning, by taking advantage of the ignorance in which we hold them by force, or a successful combination of force, but not by LAW.

Footnote 20:

“Our house stood within a few rods of the Chesapeake bay, whose broad bosom was ever white with sails from every quarter of the habitable globe. Those beautiful vessels, robed in purest white, so delightful to the eye of freemen, were to me so many shrouded ghosts to terrify and torment me with thoughts of my wretched condition. I have often, in the deep stillness of a summer’s Sabbath, stood all alone upon the lofty banks of that noble bay, and traced, with saddened heart and tearful eye, the countless number of sails moving off to the mighty ocean. The sight of these always affected me powerfully. My thoughts would compel utterance; and then, with no audience but the Almighty, I would pour out my soul’s complaint, in my rude way, with an apostrophe to the moving multitude of ships:—

“You are loosed from your moorings, and are free; I am fast in my chains, and am a slave! You move merrily before the gentle gale, and I sadly before the bloody whip! You are freedom’s swift-winged angels that fly around the world; I am confined in bands of iron! O that I were free! O that I were on one of your gallant decks, and under your protecting wing! Alas! betwixt me and you the turbid waters roll. Go on, go on. O that I could also go! Could I but swim! If I could fly! O, why was I born a man, of whom to make a brute! The glad ship is gone; she hides in the dim distance. I am left in the hottest hell of unending slavery. O God, save me! God, deliver me! Let me be free! Is there any God? Why am I a slave? I will run away. * * * Only think of it; one hundred miles straight north, and I am free! Try it? Yes! God helping me, I will. It cannot be that I shall live and die a slave. * * *”—_Autobiography of Douglass_, pp. 64, 65.

Footnote 21:

“There was no getting rid of it [the thought of his condition]. It was pressed upon me by every object within sight or hearing, animate or inanimate. The silver trump of freedom had roused my soul to eternal wakefulness. Freedom now appeared, to disappear no more for ever. It was heard in every sound, and seen in everything. It was ever present to torment me with a sense of my wretched condition. I saw nothing without seeing it, I heard nothing without hearing it, and felt nothing without feeling it. It looked from every star; it smiled in every calm, breathed in every wind, and moved in every storm.”—_Autobiography_, pp. 40, 41.

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