Xvi.
And yet, in the face of these enormities of legislation, we are told, he says, that the Slavery question is settled. Nothing, sir, can be settled, which is not right. Nothing can be settled which is adverse to Freedom, or contrary [102] to the principles of Christianity. God, nature, and all the holy sentiments of the heart, repudiate any such seeming settlement. Turning at last to the duties of Massachusetts men, he thus sums up the demands which must be made upon Congress.Sir, I will not dishonor this home of the Pilgrims, and of the Revolution, by admitting—nay, I cannot believe—that this Bill will be executed here. Individuals among us, as elsewhere, may forget humanity in a fancied loyalty to law; but the public conscience will not allow a man, who has trodden our streets as a freeman, to be dragged away as a slave. By his escape from bondage, he has shown that true manhood, which must grapple to him every honest heart. He may be ignorant, and rude, as he is poor, but he is of a true nobility. The Fugitive Slaves of the United States are among the heroes of our age. In sacrificing them to this foul enactment of Congress, we should violate every sentiment of hospitality, every whispering of the heart, every dictate of religion. There are many who will never shrink at any cost, and, notwithstanding all the atrocious penalties of this Bill, from efforts to save a wandering fellow-man from bondage; they will offer him the shelter of their houses, and, if need be, will protect his liberty by force. But let me be understood; I counsel no violence. There is another power—stronger than any individual arm—which I invoke; I mean that invincible Public Opinion, inspired by love of God and man, which, without violence or noise, gently as the operations of nature, makes and unmakes laws. Let this opinion be felt in its Christian might, and the Fugitive Slave Bill will become everywhere upon our soil a dead letter. No lawyer will aid it by counsel; no citizen will become its agent; it will die of inanition—like a spider beneath an exhausted receiver. Oh! it were well the tidings should spread throughout the land, that here in Massachusetts this accursed Bill has found no servants. ‘Sire, I have found in Bayonne honest citizens and brave soldiers only; but not one executioner,’ was the reply of the governor of that place, to the royal mandate from Charles IX. of France, ordering the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. But it rests with you, my fellow-citizens, by your words and your example, by your calm determinations, and your devoted lives, to do this work. From a humane, just, and religious people shall spring a [103] Public Opinion, to keep perpetual guard over the liberties of all within our borders. Nay, more, like the flaming sword of the cherubim at the gates of Paradise, turning on every side, it shall prevent any Slavehunter from ever setting foot in this Commonwealth. Elsewhere, he may pursue his human prey; he may employ his congenial bloodhounds, and exult in his successful game. But into Massachusetts he must not come. And yet again I say, I counsel no violence. I would not touch his person. Not with whips and thongs would I scourge him from the land. The contempt, the indignation, the abhorrence of the community shall be our weapons of offence. Wherever he moves, he shall find no house to receive him—no table spread to nourish him—no welcome to cheer him. The dismal lot of the Roman exile shall be his. He shall be a wanderer, without roof, fire, or water.
