THE RISE AND FALL OF THE SLAVE POWER IN AMERICA[48]

On the first day of January, 1832, when the American Antislavery

Society was formed in the office of Samuel E. Sewall in Boston, the

abolition of slavery through any such agency seemed impossible. Almost

all the great interests of the country were combined to defend and

sustain the system. The capital invested in slaves amounted to at

least one thousand millions of dollars. This vast pecuniary interest

was rapidly increasing by the growing demand for the cotton crop

of the Southern States--a demand which continually overlapped the

supply. The whole political power of the thirteen slave States was in

the hands of the slaveholders. No white man in the South, unless he

was a slaveholder, was ever elected to Congress, or to any important

political position at home. The two great parties, Whig and Democrat,

were pledged to the support of slavery in all its constitutional

rights, and vied with each other in giving to these the largest

interpretation. By a constitutional provision, which could not be

altered, the slave States had in Congress, in 1840, twenty-five more

Representatives in proportion to their number of voters than the free

States. By the cohesion of this great political and pecuniary interest

the slaveholders, though comparatively few in number, were able to

govern the nation. The Presidents, both houses of Congress, the Supreme

Court of the United States, the two great political parties, the press

of the country, the mercantile interest, and that mysterious force

which we call society, were virtually in the hands of the slaveholders.

Whenever their privileges were attacked, all these powers rallied to

their defense. Public opinion, in the highest circles of society and in

the lowest, was perfectly agreed on this one question. The saloons of

the Fifth Avenue and the mob of the Five Points were equally loyal to

the sacred cause of slavery. Thus all the great powers which control

free states were combined for its defense; and the attempt to assail

this institution might justly be regarded as madness. In fact, all

danger seemed so remote, that even so late as 1840 it was common for

slaveholders to admit that property in man was an absurdity and an

injustice. The system itself was so secure, that they could afford to

concede its principle to their opponents. Just as men formerly fought

duels as a matter of course, while frankly admitting that it was wrong

to do so,--just as at the present time we concede that war is absurd

and unchristian, but yet go to war continually, because we know no

other way of settling international disputes,--so the slaveholders used

to say, "Slavery is wrong; we know that: but how is it to be abolished?

What can we do about it?"

Such was the state of things in the United States less than half a

century ago. On one side was an enormous pecuniary interest, vast

political power, the weight of the press, an almost unanimous public

opinion, the necessities of commerce, the authority of fashion, the

teachings of nearly every denomination in the Christian church, and the

moral obligations attributed to the sacred covenants of the fathers of

the Republic. On the other side there were only a few voices crying in

the wilderness, "It is unjust to claim property in man." The object of

the work before us is to show how, after the slave power had reached

this summit of influence, it lost it all in a single generation; how,

less by the zeal of its opponents than by the madness of its defenders,

this enormous fabric of oppression was undermined and overthrown; and

how, in a few years, the insignificant handful of antislavery people

brought to their side the great majority of the nation.

Certainly a work which should do justice to such a history would be

one of the most interesting books ever written. For in this series of

events everything was involved which touches most nearly the mind, the

conscience, the imagination, and the heart of man. How many radical

problems in statesmanship, in political economy, in ethics, in

philosophy, in theology, in history, in science, came up for discussion

during this long controversy! What pathetic stories of suffering, what

separation of families, what tales of torture, what cruelty grown into

a custom, what awful depths of misery, came continually to light, as

though the judgment-day were beginning to dawn on the dark places of

the earth! What romances of adventure, what stories of courage and

endurance, of ingenuity in contrivance, of determination of soul, were

listened to by breathless audiences as related by the humble lips

of the fugitives from bondage! How trite and meagre became all the

commonplaces of oratory before the flaming eloquence of these terrible

facts! How tame grew all the conventional rhetoric of pulpit and

platform, by the side of speech vitalized by the immediate presence of

this majestic argument! The book which should reproduce the antislavery

history of those thirty years would possess an unimagined charm.

We cannot say that Mr. Wilson's volumes do all this, nor had we any

right to expect it. He proposes to himself nothing of the sort. What

he gives us is, however, of very great value. It is a very carefully

collected, clearly arranged, and accurate account of the rise and

progress, decline and catastrophe, of slavery in the United States.

Mr. Wilson does not attempt to be philosophical like Bancroft and

Draper; nor are his pages as picturesque as are those of Motley and

Carlyle. He tells us a plain unvarnished tale, the interest of which

is to be found in the statement of the facts exactly as they occurred.

Considering that it is a story of events all of which he saw and a

large part of which he was, there is a singular absence of prejudice.

He is no man's enemy. He has passed through the fire, and there is no

smell of smoke on his garments. An intelligent indignation against

the crimes committed in defense of the system he describes pervades

his narrative. His impartiality is not indifference, but an absence

of personal rancor. Individuals and their conduct are criticised only

so far as is necessary to make clear the course of events and the

condition of public feeling. The defenders of slavery at the North and

South are regarded not as bad men, but as the outcome of a bad system.

Mr. Wilson's book is a treasury of facts, and will never be superseded

so far as this peculiar value is concerned. In this respect it somewhat

resembles Hildreth's "History of the United States." Taking little

space for speculation, comment, or picturesque coloring, there is all

the more room left for the steady flow of the narrative.

With a few unimportant omissions, the two volumes now published

contain a full history of slavery and antislavery from the Ordinance

of 1787 and the compromises of the Constitution down to the election

of Lincoln and the outbreak of the civil war. As a work of reference

they are invaluble, for each event in the long struggle for freedom

is distinctly and accurately told, while the calm story advances

through its various stages. Instead of following this narrative in

detail, which our space will not allow, we prefer to call our readers'

attention to some of the more striking incidents of this great

revolution.

Our fathers, when they founded the nation, had little thought that

slavery was ever to attain such vast extension. They supposed that it

would gradually die out from the South, as it had disappeared from

the North. Yet the whole danger to their work lay here. Slavery, if

anything, was the wedge which was to split the Union asunder. When the

Constitution was formed, in 1787, the slaveholders, by dint of great

effort, succeeded in getting the little end of the wedge inserted.

It was very narrow, a mere sharp line, and it went in only a very

little way; so it seemed to be nothing at all. The slaveholders

at that time did not contend that slavery was right or good. They

admitted that it was a political evil. They confessed, many of them,

that it was a moral evil. All the great Southern revolutionary bodies

had accustomed themselves to believe in the rights of man, in the

principles of humanity, in the blessings of liberty; and they could

not _defend_ slavery. Mason of Virginia, in the debates in the Federal

Convention, denounced slavery and the slave-trade. "The evil of

slavery," said he, "affects the whole Union. Slavery discourages arts

and manufactures. The poor despise labor when done by slaves. They

prevent the immigration of whites, who really enrich a country. They

produce the most pernicious effects on the manners. Every master of

slaves is born a petty tyrant. They bring the judgment of Heaven on a

country." Williamson of North Carolina declared himself in principle

and practice opposed to slavery. Madison "thought it wrong to admit

in the Constitution the idea that there could be property in man."

But the extreme Southern States, South Carolina and Georgia, insisted

on the right of importing slaves, at least for a little while; and so

they were allowed to import them for twenty years. They also insisted

on having their slaves represented by themselves in Congress, and so

they were allowed to count three fifths of the slaves in determining

the ratio. This seemed a small thing, but it was the entering of the

wedge. It was tolerating the principle of slavery; not admitting it,

but tolerating it. At the same time that this Convention was forming,

the Federal Constitution Congress was prohibiting slavery in all the

territory northwest of the Ohio. This prohibition of slavery was

adopted by the unanimous votes of the eight States present, including

Virginia, the Carolinas, and Georgia. Two years later it was recognized

and confirmed by the first Congress under the Constitution. Jefferson,

a commissioner to revise the statute law of Virginia, prepared a

bill for gradual emancipation in that State. In 1790 a petition was

presented to Congress, signed by Benjamin Franklin, the last public act

of his life, declaring equal liberty to be the birthright of all, and

asking Congress to "devise means for restoring liberty to the slaves,

and so removing this inconsistency from the character of the American

people." In 1804 the people of Virginia petitioned Congress to have

the Ordinance of 1787 suspended, that they might hold slaves; but a

committee of Congress, of which John Randolph of Virginia was chairman,

reported that it would be "highly dangerous and inexpedient to impair a

provision wisely calculated to promote the happiness and prosperity of

the Northwest Territory."

But in 1820 the first heavy blow came on the wedge to drive it into the

log. The Union is a tough log, and the wedge could be driven a good way

in without splitting it; but the first blow which drove it in was the

adopting the Missouri Compromise, allowing slavery to come North and

take possession of Missouri.

The thirty years of prosperity which had followed the adoption of the

Constitution had changed the feelings of men both North and South. The

ideas of the Revolution had receded into the background; the thirst

for wealth and power had taken their place. So the Southern States,

which had cordially agreed thirty years before to prohibit the

extension of slavery, and had readily admitted it to be a political

evil, now demanded as a right the privilege of carrying slaves into

Missouri. They threatened to dissolve the Union, talked of a fire only

to be extinguished by seas of blood, and proposed to hang a member

from New Hampshire who spoke of liberty. Some of the Northern men

were not frightened by these threats, and valued them at their real

worth. But we know that the result was a compromise. Slavery was to

take possession of Missouri, on condition that no other State as far

north as Missouri should be slave-holding. Slavery was to be excluded

from the rest of the territory forever. This bargain was applauded and

justified by Southern politicians and newspapers as a great triumph

on their part; and it was. That fatal compromise was a surrender of

principle for the sake of peace, bartering conscience for quiet; and we

were soon to reap the bitter fruits.

Face to face, in deadly opposition, each determined on the total

destruction of his antagonist, stood this Goliath of the slave power

and the little David of antislavery, at the beginning of the ten years

which extended from 1830 to 1840. The giant was ultimately to fall

from the wounds of his minute opponent, but not during this decade or

the next. For many years each of the parties was growing stronger,

and the fight was growing fiercer. Organization on the one side was

continually becoming more powerful; enthusiasm on the other continually

built up a more determined opinion. The slave power won repeated

victories; but every victory increased the number and ardor of its

opponents.

The first attempt to destroy antislavery principles was by means of

mobs. Mobs seldom take place in a community unless where the upper

stratum of society and the lower are in sympathetic opposition to

some struggling minority. Then the lower class takes its convictions

from the higher, and regards itself as the hand executing what the

head thinks ought to be done. Respectability denounces the victim,

and the rabble hastens to take vengeance on him. Even a mob cannot

act efficiently unless inspired by ideas; and these it must receive

from some higher source. So it was when Priestley was mobbed at

Birmingham; so it was when Wesley and his friends were mobbed in

all parts of England. So it was also in America when the office of

the "Philanthropist" was destroyed in Cincinnati; when halls and

churches were burned in Philadelphia; when Miss Crandall was mobbed in

Connecticut; when Lovejoy was killed at Alton. Antislavery meetings

were so often invaded by rioters, that on one occasion Stephen S.

Foster is reported to have declared that the speakers were not doing

their duty, because the people listened so quietly. "If we were doing

our duty," said he, "they would be throwing brick-bats at us."

These demonstrations only roused and intensified the ardor of the

Abolitionists, while bringing to their side those who loved fair play,

and those in whom the element of battle was strong. Mobs also were an

excellent advertisement for the Antislavery Society; and this is what

every new cause needs most for its extension. Every time that one of

their meetings was violently broken up, every time that any outrage

or injury was offered to the Abolitionists, all the newspapers in the

land gave them a gratuitous advertisement by conspicuous notices of the

event. So the public mind was directed to the question, and curiosity

was excited. The antislavery conventions were more crowded from day to

day, their journals were more in demand, and their plans and opinions

became the subject of conversation everywhere.

And certainly there could be no more interesting place to visit than

one of these meetings of the Antislavery Society. With untiring

assiduity the Abolitionists brought to their platform everything which

could excite and impress their audience. Their orators were of every

kind,--rough men and shrill-voiced women, polished speakers from the

universities, stammering fugitives from slavery, philosophers and

fanatics, atheists and Christian ministers, wise men who had been made

mad by oppression, and babes in intellect to whom God had revealed

some of the noblest truths. They murdered the King's English, they

uttered glaring fallacies, the blows aimed at evildoers often glanced

aside and hit good men. Invective was, perhaps, the too frequent

staple of their argument, and any difference of opinion would be apt

to turn their weapons against each other. This church-militant often

became a church-termagant. Yet, after all such abatement for errors of

judgment or bad taste, their meetings were a splendid arena on which

was fought one of the greatest battles for mankind. The eloquence

we heard there was not of the schools, and had nothing artificial

about it. It followed the rule of Demosthenes, and was all directed

to action. Every word was a blow. There was no respect for dignities

or authorities. The Constitution of the United States, the object of

such unfeigned idolatry to the average American, was denounced as

"a covenant with hell." The great men of the nation, Webster, Clay,

Jackson, were usually selected as the objects of the severest censure.

The rule was to strike at the heads which rose above the crowd, as

deserving the sternest condemnation. Presidents and governors, heads of

universities, eminent divines, great churches and denominations, were

convicted as traitors to the right, or held up to unsparing ridicule.

No conventional proprieties were regarded in the terrible earnestness

of this enraged speech. It was like the lava pouring from the depths

of the earth, and melting the very rocks which opposed its resistless

course.

Of course this fierce attack roused as fierce a defense. One extreme

generated the other. The cry for "immediate abolition" was answered by

labored defenses of slavery itself. Formerly its advocates only excused

it as a necessary evil; now they began to defend it as a positive good.

Then was seen the lamentable sight of Christian ministers and respected

divines hurrying to the support of the "sum of all villanies." The

Episcopal bishop of a New England State defended with ardor the system

of slavery as an institution supported by the Bible and commanded by

God himself. The president of a New England college declared slavery to

be a positive institution of revealed religion, and not inconsistent

with the law of love. The minister of a Boston church, going to the

South for his health, amused his leisure by writing a book on slavery,

in which it is made to appear as a rose-colored and delightful

institution, and its opposers are severely censured. One of the most

learned professors in a Massachusetts theological school composed a

treatise to refute the heresy of the higher law, and to maintain the

duty of returning fugitive slaves to bondage. Under such guidance it

was natural that the churches should generally stand aloof from the

Abolitionists and condemn their course. It was equally natural that

the Abolitionists should then denounce the churches as the bulwark of

slavery. Nevertheless, from the Christian body came most of those who

devoted their lives to the extirpation of this great evil and iniquity.

And Mr. Garrison, at least, always maintained that his converts were

most likely to be made among those whose consciences had been educated

by the Church and the Bible.

From public meetings in the North, the conflict of ideas next extended

itself to the floor of Congress, where it continued to rage during

nearly thirty years, until "the war of tongue and pen" changed to

that of charging squadrons, the storm of shot and the roll of cannon.

The question found its way into the debates of Congress in the form

of petitions for the abolition of slavery and the slave-trade in the

District of Columbia. If the slaveholders had allowed these petitions

to be received and referred, taking no notice of them, it seems

probable that no important results would have followed. But, blinded by

rage and fear, they opposed their reception, thus denying a privilege

belonging to all mankind,--that of asking the government to redress

their grievances. Then came to the front a man already eminent by his

descent, his great attainments, his long public service, his great

position, and his commanding ability. John Quincy Adams, after having

been President of the United States, accepted a seat in the House of

Representatives, and was one of the most laborious and useful of

its members. He was not then an Abolitionist, nor in favor even of

abolishing slavery in the District of Columbia. But he believed that

the people had the right to petition the government for anything they

desired, and that their respectful petitions should be respectfully

received. Sixty-five years old in 1832, when he began this conflict,

his warfare with the slave power ended only when, struck with death

while in his seat, he saw the last of earth and was content. With what

energy, what dauntless courage, what untiring industry, what matchless

powers of argument, what inexhaustible resources of knowledge, he

pursued his object, the future historian of the struggle who can fully

paint what Mr. Wilson is only able to indicate, will take pleasure in

describing. One scene will remain forever memorable as one of the most

striking triumphs of human oratory; and this we must describe a little

more fully.

February 6, 1837, being the day for presenting petitions, Mr. Adams had

already presented several petitions for the abolition of slavery in the

District of Columbia (a measure to which he was himself then opposed),

when he proceeded to state[49] that he had in his possession a paper

upon which he wished the decision of the Speaker. The paper, he said,

came from twenty persons declaring themselves to be slaves. He wished

to know whether the Speaker would consider this paper as coming under

the rule of the House.[50] The Chair said he would take the advice of

the House on that question. And thereupon began a storm of indignation

which raged around Mr. Adams during four days.[51] Considering that

the House had ordered, less than three weeks before, that all papers

relating _in any way_ to slavery should be laid on the table without

any action being taken on them, this four days' discussion about such

a paper, ending in the passing of several resolutions, was rather an

amusing illustration of the irrepressible character of the antislavery

movement. The Southern members seemed at first astonished at what they

hastily assumed to be an attempt of Mr. Adams to introduce a petition

from slaves. One moved that it be not received. Another, indignant

at such a tame way of meeting the question, declared that any one

attempting to introduce such a petition should be immediately punished;

and if that was not done at once, all the members from the slave States

should leave the House. Loud cries arose, "Expel him! expel him!"

Mr. Alfred declared that the petition ought to be burned. Mr. Waddy

Thompson of South Carolina, who soon received a castigation which he

little anticipated, moved that John Quincy Adams, having committed a

gross disrespect to the House in attempting to introduce a petition

from slaves, ought to be instantly brought to the bar of the House

to receive the severe censure of the Speaker. Similar resolutions

were offered by Mr. Haynes and Mr. Lewis, all assuming that Mr. Adams

had attempted to introduce this petition. He at last took the floor,

and said that he thought the time of the House was being consumed

needlessly, since all these resolutions were founded on an error. He

had _not_ attempted to present the petition,--he had only asked the

Speaker a question in regard to it. He also advised the member from

Alabama to amend his resolution, which stated the petition to be for

the abolition of slavery in the District, whereas it was the very

reverse of that. It was a petition for something which would be very

objectionable to himself, though it might be the very thing for which

the gentleman from Alabama was contending. Then Mr. Adams sat down,

leaving his opponents more angry than ever, but somewhat confused in

their minds. They could not very well censure him for doing what he

had not done, but they wished very much to censure him. So Mr. Waddy

Thompson modified his resolution, making it state that Mr. Adams, "by

creating the impression, and leaving the House under the impression,

that the petition was for the abolition of slavery," had trifled with

the House, and should receive its censure. After a multitude of other

speeches from the enraged Southern chivalry, the debate of the first

day came to an end.

On the next day (February 7), in reply to a question, Mr. Adams stated

again that he had not attempted to present the petition, though his

own feelings would have led him to do so, but had kept it in his

possession, out of respect to the House. He had said nothing to lead

the House to infer that this petition was for the abolition of slavery.

He should consider before presenting a petition from slaves; though,

in his opinion, slaves had a right to petition, and the mere fact of

a petition being from slaves would not of itself prevent him from

presenting it. If the petition were a proper one, he should present

it. A petition was a prayer, a supplication to a superior being.

Slaves might pray to God; was this House so superior that it could not

condescend to hear a prayer from those to whom the Almighty listened?

He ended by saying that, in asking the question of the Speaker, he had

intended to show the greatest respect to the House, and had not the

least purpose of trifling with it.

These brief remarks of Mr. Adams made it necessary for the slaveholders

again to change their tactics. Mr. Dromgoole of Virginia now brought

forward his famous resolution, which Mr. Adams afterwards made so

ridiculous, accusing him of having "given color to an idea" that

slaves had a right to petition, and that he should be censured by

the Speaker for this act. Another member proposed, rather late in the

day, that a committee be appointed to inquire whether any attempt had

been made, or not, to offer a petition from slaves. Another offered a

series of resolutions, declaring that if any one "hereafter" should

offer petitions from slaves he ought to be regarded as an enemy of the

South, and of the Union; but that "as John Quincy Adams had stated

that he meant no disrespect to the House, that all proceedings as to

his conduct should now cease." And so, after many other speeches, the

second day's debate came to an end.

The next day was set apart to count the votes for President, and so

the debate was resumed February 9. It soon become more confused than

ever. Motions were made to lay the resolutions on the table; they were

withdrawn; they were renewed; they were voted down; and, finally, after

much discussion, and when at last the final question was about being

taken, Mr. Adams inquired whether he was to be allowed to be heard in

his own defense before being condemned. So he obtained the floor, and

immediately the whole aspect of the case was changed. During three days

he had been the prisoner at the bar; suddenly he became the judge on

the bench. Never, in the history of forensic eloquence, has a single

speech effected a greater change in the purpose of a deliberative

assembly. Often as the Horatian description has been quoted of the

just man, tenacious of his purpose, who fears not the rage of citizens

clamoring for what is wrong, it has never found a fitter application

than to the unshaken mind of John Quincy Adams, standing alone, in the

midst of his antagonists, like a solid monument which the idle storms

beat against in vain.

He began by saying that he had been waiting during these three days

for an answer to the question which he had put to the Speaker, and

which the Speaker had put to the House, but which the House had not

yet answered, namely, whether the paper he held in his hand came under

the rule of the House or not. They had discussed everything else, but

had not answered that question. They had wasted the time of the House

in considering how they could censure him for doing what he had not

done. All he wished to know was, whether a petition from slaves should

be received or not. He himself thought that it ought to be received;

but if the House decided otherwise, he should not present it. Only one

gentleman had undertaken to discuss that question, and his argument

was, that if slavery was abolished by Congress in any State, the

Constitution was violated; and, _therefore_, slaves ought not to be

allowed to petition for anything. He, Mr. Adams, was unable to see the

connection between the premises and the conclusion.

Hereupon poor Mr. French, the author of this argument, tried to

explain what he meant by it, but left his meaning as confused as before.

Then Mr. Adams added, that if you deprived any one in the community of

the right of petition, which was only the right of offering a prayer,

you would find it difficult to know where to stop; one gentleman had

objected to the reception of one petition, because offered by women of

a bad character. Mr. Patton of Virginia says he _knows_ that one of the

names is of a woman of a bad character. _How does he know it?_

Hereupon Mr. Patton explained that he did not himself know the woman,

but had been told that her character was not good.

So, said Mr. Adams, you first deny the right of petition to slaves,

then to free people of color, and then you inquire into the moral

character of a petitioner before you receive his petition. The next

step will be to inquire into the political belief of the petitioners

before you receive your petition. Mr. Robertson of Virginia had said

that no petitions ought to be received for an object which Congress

had no power to grant. Mr. Adams replied, with much acuteness, that

on most questions the right of granting the petition might be in

doubt: a majority must decide that point; it would therefore follow,

from Mr. Robertson's rule, that no one had a right to petition unless

he belonged to the predominant party. Mr. Adams then turned to Mr.

Dromgoole, who had charged him with the remarkable crime of "giving

color to an idea," and soon made that Representative of the Old

Dominion appear very ridiculous.

Mr. Adams then proceeded to rebuke, with dignity but severity, the

conduct of those who had proposed to censure him without any correct

knowledge of the facts of the case. His criticisms had the effect

of compelling these gentlemen to excuse themselves and to offer

various explanations of their mistakes. These assailants suddenly

found themselves in an attitude of self-defense. Mr. Adams graciously

accepted their explanations, advising them in future to be careful when

they undertook to offer resolutions of censure. He then informed Mr.

Waddy Thompson of South Carolina that he had one or two questions to

put to him. By this time it had become a pretty serious business to

receive the attentions of Mr. Adams; and Mr. Waddy Thompson immediately

rose to explain. But Mr. Adams asked him to wait until he had fully

stated the question which Mr. Thompson was to answer. This Southern

statesman had threatened the ex-President of the United States with an

indictment by the grand jury of the District for words spoken in debate

in the House of Representatives, and had added that, if the petition

was presented, Mr. Adams would be sent to the penitentiary. "Sir,"

said Mr. Adams, "the only answer I make to such a threat from that

gentleman is, to invite him, when he returns to his constituents, to

study a little the first principles of civil liberty." He then called

on the gentlemen from the slave States to say how many of them indorsed

that sentiment. "_I_ do not," said Mr. Underwood of Kentucky. "_I_ do

not," said Mr. Wise of Virginia. Mr. Thompson was compelled to attempt

another explanation, and said he meant that, in _South Carolina_, any

member of the legislature who should present a petition from slaves

could be indicted. "Then," replied Mr. Adams, and this produced a great

sensation, "if it is the law of South Carolina that members of her

Legislature may be indicted by juries for words spoken in debate, God

Almighty receive my thanks that I am not a citizen of South Carolina."

Mr. Adams ended his speech by declaring that the honor of the

House of Representatives was always regarded by him as a sacred

sentiment, and that he should feel a censure from that House as the

heaviest misfortune of a long life, checkered as it had been by many

vicissitudes.

When Mr. Adams began his defense, not only was a large majority of

the House opposed to his course, but they had brought themselves by

a series of violent harangues into a condition of bitter excitement

against him. When he ended, the effect of this extraordinary speech

was such, that all the resolutions were rejected, and out of the whole

House only twenty-two members could be found to pass a vote of even

indirect censure. The victory was won, and won by Mr. Adams almost

single-handed. We count Horatius Cocles a hero for holding the Roman

bridge against a host of enemies; but greater honors belong to him

who successfully defends against overwhelming numbers the ancient

safeguards of public liberty. For this reason we have repeated here at

such length the story of three days, which the people of the United

States ought always to remember. It took ten years to accomplish the

actual repeal of these gag-laws. But the main work was done when the

right of speech was obtained for the friends of freedom in Congress;

and John Quincy Adams was the great leader in this warfare. He was

joined on that arena by other noble champions,--Giddings, Mann,

Palfrey, John P. Hale, Chase, Seward, Slade of Vermont, Julian of

Indiana. Others no less devoted followed them, among whom came from

Massachusetts Charles Sumner and Henry Wilson, the author of the

present work. What he cannot properly say of himself should be said

for him. Though an accomplished and eager politician, Henry Wilson has

never sacrificed any great principle for the sake of political success.

His services to the antislavery cause have been invaluable, his labors

in that cause unremitting. Personal feelings and personal interests he

has been ready to sacrifice for the sake of the cause. Loyal to his

friends, he has not been bitter to his opponents; and if any man who

fought through that long struggle were to be its historian, no one will

deny the claims of Mr. Wilson to that honor.

Under the lead of John Quincy Adams, the power to discuss the whole

subject of slavery in the National Legislature was won, and never

again lost. This was the second triumph of the antislavery movement;

its first was the power won by Garrison and his friends of discussing

the subject before the people. The wolfish mob in the cities and in

Congress might continue to howl, but it had lost its claws and teeth.

But now came the first great triumph of the slave power, in the

annexation of Texas. This was a cruel blow to the friends of freedom.

It was more serious because the motive of annexation was openly

announced, and the issue distinctly presented in the Presidential

election. Mr. Upshur, Tyler's Secretary of State, in an official

dispatch, declared that the annexation of Texas was necessary to secure

the institution of slavery. The Democratic Convention which nominated

Mr. Polk for the Presidency deliberately made the annexation of Texas

the leading feature of its platform. Nor was the slave power in this

movement opposed merely by the antislavery feeling of the country.

Southern senators helped to defeat the measure when first presented in

the form of a treaty by Mr. Tyler's administration. Nearly the whole

Whig party was opposed to it. The candidate of the Whigs, Henry Clay,

had publicly declared that annexation would be a great evil to the

nation. Twenty members of Congress, with John Quincy Adams at their

head, had proclaimed in an address to their constituents that it would

be equivalent to a dissolution of the Union. Dr. Channing, in 1838, had

said that it would be better for the nation to perish than to commit

such an outrageous wrong. Edward Everett, in 1837, spoke of annexation

as "an enormous crime." Whig and Democratic legislatures had repeatedly

denounced it. In 1843, when the Democrats had a majority in the

Massachusetts legislature, they resolved that "under no circumstances

whatever" could the people of Massachusetts approve of annexation.

Martin Van Buren opposed it as unjust to Mexico. Senator Benton, though

previously in favor of the measure, in a speech in Missouri declared

that the object of those who were favoring the scheme was to dissolve

the Union, though he afterward came again to its support. And yet when

the Presidential campaign was in progress, a Democratic torchlight

procession miles long was seen marching through the streets of Boston,

and flaunting the lone star of Texas along its whole line. And when

Polk was elected, and the decision of the nation virtually given for

this scheme, it seemed almost hopeless to contend longer against such

a triumph of slavery. If the people of the North could submit to this

outrage, it appeared as if they could submit to anything.

Such, however, was not the case. On one side the slave power was

greatly strengthened by the admission of Texas to the Union as a slave

State; but, on the other hand, there came a large accession to the

antislavery body. And this continued to be the case during many years.

The slave power won a succession of political victories, each of which

was a moral victory to its opponents. Many who were not converted to

antislavery by the annexation of Texas in 1845 were brought over by

the defeat of the Wilmot Proviso and the passage of the Fugitive Slave

Law in 1850. Many who were not alarmed by these successes of slavery

were convinced of the danger when they beheld the actual working of

the Fugitive Slave Act. How many Boston gentlemen, before opposed to

the Abolitionists, were brought suddenly to their side when they saw

the Court House in chains, and were prevented by soldiers guarding

Anthony Burns from going to their banks or insurance offices in State

Street! All those bitter hours of defeat and disaster planted the seeds

of a greater harvest for freedom. Others who remained insensible to

the disgrace of the slave laws of 1850 were recruited to the ranks of

freedom by the repeal of the Missouri Compromise in 1854. This last

act, Mr. Wilson justly says, did more than any other to arouse the

North, and convince it of the desperate encroachments of slavery. Men

who tamely acquiesced in _this_ great wrong were startled into moral

life by the murderous assault on Charles Sumner by Preston Brooks in

1856. Those who could submit to this were roused by the border ruffians

from Missouri who invaded Kansas, and made the proslavery Constitution

for that State. The Dred Scott decision in 1857, which declared slavery

to be no local institution, limited to a single part of the land, but

having a right to exist in the free States under the Constitution,

alarmed even those who had been insensible to the previous aggressions

of slavery. This series of political successes of the slave power was

appalling. Every principle of liberty, every restraint on despotism,

was overthrown in succession, until the whole power of the nation had

fallen into the hands of an oligarchy of between three and four hundred

thousand slaveholders. But every one of their political victories was a

moral defeat; every access to their strength as an organization added

an immense force to the public opinion opposed to them; and each of

their successes was responded to by some advance of the antislavery

movement. The annexation of Texas in 1845 was answered by the

appearance of John P. Hale, in 1847, in the United States Senate,--the

first man who was elected to that body on distinctly antislavery

grounds and independent of either of the great parties. The response

to the defeat of the Wilmot Proviso and passage of the Fugitive Slave

Law in 1850 was the election of Charles Sumner to the Senate in April,

1851, and the establishment of the underground railroad in all the

free States. When the South abrogated the Missouri Compromise, the

North replied by the initiation of the Republican party. The Kansas

outrages gave to freedom John Brown of Osawatomie. And the answer to

the Dred Scott decision was the nomination of Abraham Lincoln. Till

that moment the forces of freedom and slavery had stood opposed, like

two great armies, each receiving constant recruits and an acccession of

new power. On one side, hitherto, had been all the political triumphs,

and on the other all the moral. But with this first great political

success of their opponents the slave power became wholly demoralized,

gave up the conflict, threw away the results of all its former

victories, and abandoned the field to its enemies, plunging into the

dark abyss of secession and civil war.

And yet, what was the issue involved in that election? It was simply

whether slavery should or should not be extended into new Territories.

All that the Republican party demanded was that slavery should not be

extended. It did not dream of abolishing slavery in the slave States.

We remember how, long after the war began, we refused to do this. The

Southerners had every guaranty they could desire that they should not

be interfered with at home. If they had gracefully acquiesced in the

decision of the majority, their institution might have flourished for

another century. The Fugitive Slave Law would have been repealed; or,

at all events, trial by jury would have been given to the man claimed

as a fugitive. But no attempt would have been made by the Republican

party to interfere with slavery in the slave States, for that party did

not believe it had the right so to do.

But, in truth, the course of the Southern leaders illustrated in a

striking way the distinction between a politician and a statesman. They

were very acute politicians, trained in all the tactics of their art;

but they were poor statesmen, incapable of any large strategic plan

of action. As statesmen, they should have made arrangements for the

gradual abolition of slavery, as an institution incapable of sustaining

itself in civilized countries in the nineteenth century. Or, if they

wished to maintain it as long as possible, they ought to have seen

that this could only be accomplished by preserving the support of

the interests and the public opinion of the North. Alliance with the

Northern States was their only security; and, therefore, they ought to

have kept the Northern conscience on their side by a loyal adherence to

all compacts and covenants. Instead of this, they contrived to outrage,

one by one, every feeling of honor, every sentiment of duty, and every

vested right of the free States, until, at last, it became plain to all

that it was an "irrepressible conflict," and must be settled definitely

either for slavery or for freedom. When this point was reached by the

American people, they saw also that it could not be settled in favor

of slavery, for no concession would satisfy the slaveholders, and no

contract these might make could be depended on. The North gave them, in

1850, the Fugitive Slave Law for the sake of peace. Did it gain peace?

No. It relinquished, for the sake of peace, the Wilmot Proviso. Was the

South satisfied? No. In 1853 Mr. Douglas offered it the Nebraska Bill.

Was it contented? By no means. Mr. Pierce and Mr. Buchanan did their

best to give it Kansas. Did they content the South by their efforts?

No. Mr. Douglas, Mr. Pierce, and Mr. Buchanan were all set aside by

the South. The Lecompton Bill was not enough. The Dred Scott decision

was not enough. The slaveholders demanded that slavery should be

established by a positive act of Congress in all the Territories of the

Union. Even Judge Douglas shrank aghast from the enterprise of giving

them such a law as that; and so Judge Douglas was immediately thrown

aside. Thus, by the folly of the Southern leaders themselves, more than

by the efforts of their opponents, the majority was obtained by the

Republicans in the election of 1860.

But during this conflict came many very dark days for freedom. One

of these was after the passage of the Fugitive Slave Law in 1850.

That law was one of a series of compromises, intended to make a final

settlement of the question and to silence all antislavery agitation.

Although defended by great lawyers, who thought it necessary to save

the Union, there is little doubt that it was as unconstitutional as

it was cruel. The Constitution declares that "no person shall be

deprived of his liberty without due process of law," and also that

"in suits at common law, when the value in controversy shall exceed

twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved." Anthony

Burns was in full possession of his liberty; he was a self-supporting,

tax-paying citizen of Massachusetts; and in ten days, by the action of

the Fugitive Slave Law, he was turned into a slave under the decision

of a United States commissioner, without seeing a judge or a jury.

The passage of this law, and its actual enforcement, caused great

excitement among the free colored people at the North, as well as among

the fugitives from slavery. No one was safe. It was evident that it was

meant to be enforced,--it was not meant to be idle thunder. But instead

of discouraging the friends of freedom, it roused them to greater

activity. More fugitives than ever came from the slave States, and the

underground railroad was in fuller activity than before. The methods

employed by fugitives to escape were very various and ingenious. One

man was brought away in a packing-box. Another clung to the lower side

of the guard of a steamer, washed by water at every roll of the vessel.

One well-known case was that of Ellen Crafts, who came from Georgia

disguised as a young Southern gentleman, attended by her husband as

body-servant. She rode in the cars, sitting near Southerners who knew

her, but did not recognize her in this costume, and at last arrived

safe in Philadelphia. In one instance a slave escaped from Kentucky,

with all his family, walking some distance on stilts, in order to leave

no scent for the pursuing blood-hounds. When these poor people reached

the North, and told their stories on the antislavery platform, they

excited great sympathy, which was not confined to professed antislavery

people. A United States commissioner, who might be called on to return

fugitives to bondage, frequently had them concealed in his own house,

by the action of his wife, whose generous heart never wearied in this

work, and who was the means of saving many from bondage. A Democratic

United States marshal, in Boston, whose duty it was to arrest fugitive

slaves, was in the habit of telling the slave-owner who called on him

for assistance that he "did not know anything about niggers, but he

would find out where the man was from those who did." Whereupon he

would go directly to Mr. Garrison's office and tell him he wanted to

arrest such or such a man, a fugitive from slavery. "But," said he,

"curiously enough, the next thing I heard would be, that the fellow was

in Canada." And when a colored man was actually sent back to slavery,

as in the case of Burns, the event excited so much sympathy with

the fugitive, and so much horror of the law, that its effects were

disastrous to the slave power. Thomas M. Simms was arrested in Boston

as a fugitive from slavery, April 3, 1851, and was sent to slavery by

the decision of George Ticknor Curtis, a United States commissioner.

The answer to this act, by Massachusetts, was the election of Charles

Sumner, twenty-one days after, to the United States Senate. Anthony

Burns was returned to slavery by order of Edward G. Loring, in May,

1854; and Massachusetts responded by removing him from his office as

Judge of Probate, and refusing his confirmation as a professor in

Harvard University.

The passage of what were called the compromise measures of 1850,

including the Fugitive Slave Law, had, it was fondly believed, put an

end to the whole antislavery agitation. The two great parties, Whig and

Democrat, had agreed that such should be the case. The great leaders,

Henry Clay and Daniel Webster, Cass and Buchanan, were active in

calling on the people to subdue their prejudices in favor of freedom.

Southern fire-eaters, like Toombs and Alexander Stephens, joined these

Union-savers, and became apostles of peace. Agitation was the only

evil, and agitation must now come to an end. Public meetings were held

in the large cities,--one in Castle Garden in New York, another in

Faneuil Hall in Boston. In these meetings the lion and the lamb lay

down together. Rufus Choate and Benjamin Hallet joined in demanding

that all antislavery agitation should now cease. The church was called

upon to assist in the work of Union-saving, and many leading divines

lent their aid in this attempt to silence those who desired that

the oppressed should go free, and who wished to break every yoke.

Many seemed to suppose that all antislavery agitation was definitely

suppressed. President Fillmore called the compromise measures "a final

adjustment." All the powers which control human opinion--the two great

political parties, the secular and the religious newspapers, the large

churches and popular divines, the merchants and lawyers--had agreed

that the antislavery agitation should now cease.[52]

But just at that moment, when the darkness was the deepest, and all

the great powers in the church and state had decreed that there should

be no more said concerning American slavery, the voice of a woman broke

the silence, and American slavery became the one subject of discussion

throughout the world. "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was written by Mrs. Stowe

for the "National Era," Dr. Bailey's paper in Washington. It was

intended to be a short story, running through two or three numbers of

the journal, and she was to receive a hundred dollars for writing it.

But, as she wrote, the fire burned in her soul, a great inspiration

came over her, and, not knowing what she was about to do, she moved

the hearts of two continents to their very depths. After her story

had appeared in the newspaper, she offered it as a novel to several

publishers, who refused it. Accepted at last, it had a circulation

unprecedented in the annals of literature. In eight weeks its sale had

reached one hundred thousand copies in the United States, while in

England a million copies were sold within the year. On the European

Continent the sale was immense. A single publisher in Paris issued five

editions in a few weeks, and before the end of 1852 it was translated

into Italian, Spanish, Danish, Swedish, Dutch, Flemish, German, Polish,

and Magyar. To these were afterward added translations into Portuguese,

Welsh, Russian, Arabic, and many other languages. For a time, it

stopped the publication and sale of all other works; and within a

year or two from the day when the politicians had decided that no more

should be said concerning American slavery, it had become the subject

of conversation and discussion among millions.

"Uncle Tom's Cabin" was published in 1852. Those were very dark hours

in the great struggle for freedom. Who that shared them can ever

forget the bitterness caused by the defection of Daniel Webster, and

his 7th of March speech in 1850; by the passage of the Fugitive Slave

Law, which made the whole area of the free States a hunting-ground for

the slaveholders; and by the rejection of the Wilmot Proviso, which

abandoned all the new territory to slavery? This was followed by the

election of Franklin Pierce as President in 1852, on a platform in

which the Democratic party pledged itself to resist all agitation of

the subject of slavery in Congress or outside of it. And in December,

1853, Stephen A. Douglas introduced his Nebraska Bill, which repealed

the Missouri Compromise of 1820, and opened all the territory

heretofore secured to freedom to slaveholders and their slaves. This

offer on the part of Mr. Douglas was a voluntary bid for the support

of the slaveholders in the next Presidential election. And in spite

of all protests from the North, all resistance by Democrats as well

as their opponents, all arguments and appeals, this solemn agreement

between the North and the South was violated, and every restriction on

slavery removed. Nebraska and Kansas were organized as Territories,

and the question of slavery left to local tribunals, or what was called

"squatter sovereignty."

The passage of this measure showed the vast political advance of the

slave power in the country, and how greatly it had corrupted the

political conscience of the nation. It also showed, to those who had

eyes, that slavery was the wedge which was to split the Union asunder.

But there were in the North many persons who still thought that danger

to the Union came rather from the _discussion_ of slavery than from

slavery itself. They supposed that if all opposition to slavery should

cease, then there would be no more danger. The Abolitionists were the

cause of all the peril; and the way to save the Union was to silence

the Abolitionists. That, however, had been tried ineffectually when

they were few and weak; and now it was too late, as these Union-savers

ought to have seen.

Mr. Douglas and his supporters defended their cause by maintaining

that the Missouri Compromise was not a contract, but a simple act of

legislation, and they tauntingly asked, "Why, since antislavery men had

always thought that Compromise a bad thing, should they now object to

its being repealed?" Even this sophism had its effect with some, who

did not notice that Douglas's resolutions only repealed that half of

the Compromise which was favorable to freedom, while letting the other

half remain. One part of the Act of 1820 was that Missouri should be

admitted as a slave State; the other part was that all the rest of the

Territory should be forever free. Only the last part was now repealed.

Missouri was left in the Union as a slave State.

The political advance now made by slavery will appear from the

following facts:--

In 1797 the slave power asked for only life; it did not wish to extend

itself; it united with the North in prohibiting its own extension into

the Northwest Territory.

In 1820 it did wish to extend itself; it refused to be shut out of

Missouri, but was willing that the rest of the Territory should be

always free.

In 1845 it insisted on extending itself by annexing Texas, but it

admitted that it had no right to go into any Territory as far north as

Missouri.

In 1850 it refused to be shut out of any of the new territory, and

resisted the Wilmot Proviso; but still confessed that it had no right

to go into Kansas or Nebraska.

Five years after, by the efforts of Stephen A. Douglas and Franklin

Pierce, it refused to be shut out of Kansas, and repealed the part of

the Missouri Compromise which excluded it from that region. But, in

order to accomplish this repeal, it took the plausible name of "popular

sovereignty," and claimed that the people should themselves decide

whether they would have a slave State or a free State.

One additional step came. The people decided or were about to decide

for freedom; and then the slave power set aside its own doctrine

of popular sovereignty and invaded the Territory with an army of

Missourians, chose a legislature for the people of Kansas composed of

Missourians, who passed laws establishing slavery and punishing with

fine and imprisonment any who should even speak against it.

The people of Kansas refused to obey these laws. They would have been

slaves already if they had obeyed them. Then their own governor,

appointed by our President, led an army of Missourians to destroy

their towns and plunder and murder their people. Nothing was left

them but to resist. They did resist manfully but prudently, and by a

remarkable combination of courage and caution the people of the little

Free-State town of Lawrence succeeded in saving themselves from this

danger without shedding a drop of blood. Men, women, and children were

animated by the same heroic spirit. The women worked by the side of the

men. The men were placed on the outposts as sentinels and ordered by

their general not to fire as long as they could possibly avoid it. And

these men stood on their posts, and allowed themselves to be shot at by

the invaders, and did not return the fire. One man received two bullets

through his hat, and was ready to fire if the enemy came nearer, but

neither fired nor quitted his post. The men were brave and obedient

to orders; the women were resolute, sagacious, and prudent. So they

escaped their first great danger.

But slavery does not give up its point so easily after one defeat.

Preparations were made along the Missouri frontier for another

invasion, conducted in a more military manner and by troops under

better discipline. The Free-State people of Kansas were to be

exterminated. From week to week they were expecting an attack, and had

to watch continually against it. After having worked all day the men

were obliged to do military duty and stand guard all night. Men who

lived four and five miles out from Lawrence got wood and water for

their wives in the morning, left them a revolver with which to defend

themselves, and went to Lawrence to do military duty, returning at

night again.

If we had a writer gifted with the genius of Macaulay to describe the

resistance of Kansas to the Federal authorities on one side and the

Missouri invaders on the other, it would show as heroic courage and

endurance as are related in the brilliant pages which tell of the

defense of Londonderry. The invaders were unscrupulous, knowing that

they had nothing to fear from the government at Washington. Senator

Atchison, formerly the presiding officer of the United States Senate,

openly advised the people of Missouri to go and vote in Kansas. General

Stringfellow told them to take their bowie-knives and exterminate

every scoundrel who was tainted with Free-soilism or Abolitionism.

The orders were obeyed. The first legislature was elected by armed

invaders from Missouri, and Buford with a regiment of Southern soldiers

entered the Territory in 1856, and surrounded Lawrence. These troops,

under Atchison, Buford, and Stringfellow, burned houses and hotels,

and stole much property. Osawatomie was sacked and burned, Leavenworth

invaded and plundered, and Free-State men were killed. A proslavery

constitution formed by Missouri slaveholders was forced through

Congress, but rejected by the people of Kansas, who at last gained

possession of their own State by indomitable courage and patience.

Four territorial governors, appointed by the President, selected from

the Democratic party and favorable to the extension of slavery, were

all converted to the cause of freedom by the sight of the outrages

committed by the Missouri invaders.

Amid this scene of tumult arose a warrior on the side of freedom

destined to take his place with William Wallace and William Tell among

the few names of patriots which are never forgotten. John Brown of

Osawatomie was one of those who, in these later days, have reproduced

for us the almost forgotten type of the Jewish hero and prophet. He was

a man who believed in a God of justice, who believed in fighting fire

with fire. He was one who came in the spirit and power of Elijah, an

austere man, a man absorbed in his ideas, fixed as fate in pursuing

them. Yet his heart was full of tenderness, he had no feeling of

revenge toward any, and he really lost his own life rather than risk

the lives of others. While in Kansas he become a leader of men, a

captain, equal to every exigency. The ruffians from Missouri found to

their surprise that, before they could conquer Kansas, they had some

real fighting to do, and must face Sharpe's rifles; and as soon as they

understood this, their zeal for their cause was very much abated. In

this struggle John Brown was being educated for the last scene of his

life, which has lifted up his name, and placed it in that body which

Daniel O'Connell used to call "The order of Liberators."[53]

Out of these persecutions of Free-State men in Kansas came the assault

on Charles Sumner, for words spoken in debate. Charles Sumner was

elected to the United States Senate in 1851. He found in Congress some

strong champions of freedom. John Quincy Adams was gone; but Seward

was there, and Chase, and John P. Hale, in the Senate; and Horace

Mann, Giddings, and other true men in the House. Henry Wilson himself,

always a loyal friend to Sumner, did not come till 1855. These men all

differed from one another, and each possessed special gifts for his

arduous work. They stood face to face with an imperious majority,

accustomed to rule. They had only imperfect support at home,--people

and press at the North had been demoralized by slavery. They must watch

their words, be careful of what they said, control their emotions,

maintain an equal temper. Something of the results of this discipline

we think we perceive in the calm tone of Mr. Wilson's volumes, and the

absence of passion in his narration. These men must give no occasion to

the enemy to blaspheme, but be careful of their lips and their lives.

Their gifts, we have said, were various. Seward was a politician,

trained in all the intricate ways of New York party struggles; but

he was also a thinker of no small power of penetration. He could see

principles, but was too much disposed to sacrifice or postpone them

to some supposed exigency of the hour. In his orations, when he spoke

for mankind, his views were large; but in his politics he sometimes

gave up to party his best-considered convictions. Thought and action,

he seemed to believe, belonged to two spheres; in his thought he was

often broader in his range than any other senator, but in action he was

frequently tempted to temporize. Mr. Chase was a man of a different

sort. He had no disposition to concede any of his views. A cautious

man, he moved slowly; but when he had taken his position, he was not

disposed to leave it. John P. Hale was admirable in reply. His retorts

were rapid and keen, and yet were uttered so good-naturedly, and

with so much wit, that it was difficult for his opponents to take

offense. But Charles Sumner was "the noblest Roman of them all." With

a more various culture, a higher tone of moral sentiment, he was also

a learned student and a man of implacable opinions. He never could

comprehend Mr. Seward's diplomacy, and probably Mr. Seward could never

understand Sumner's inability to compromise. He was deficient in

imagination and in tact; therefore he could not enter into the minds of

others, and imperfectly understood them. But the purity of his soul and

life, the childlike simplicity of his purposes, and the sweetness of

his disposition, were very charming to those who knew him well. Add to

this the resources of a mind stored with every kind of knowledge, and a

memory which never forgot anything, and his very presence in Washington

gave an added value to the place. He had seen men and cities, and was

intimate with European celebrities, but yet was an Israelite indeed

in whom was no guile. Fond of the good opinions of others, and well

pleased with their approbation, he never sacrificed a conviction to win

their praise or to avoid their censure. Certainly, he was one of the

purest men who ever took part in American politics.

It was such a man as this, so gifted and adorned, so spotless and

upright, who by the wise providence of God was permitted to be the

victim of a brutal assassin. It was this noble head, the instrument of

laborious thought for the public welfare, which was beaten and bruised

by the club of a ruffian, on May 22, 1856. Loud was the triumph through

the South, great the joy of the slave power. They had disabled, with

cruel blows, their chief enemy. Little did they foresee--bad men never

do foresee--that Charles Sumner was to return to his seat, and become a

great power in the land, long after their system had been crushed, and

their proud States trampled into ruin by the tread of Northern armies.

They did not foresee that he was to be the trusted counselor of Lincoln

during those years of war; and that, after they had been conquered, he

would become one of their best friends in their great calamity, and

repay their evil with good.

This murderous assault on Mr. Sumner cannot be considered as having

strengthened the political position of the slave power. It was a great

mistake in itself, and it was a greater mistake in being indorsed by

such multitudes in the slave States. In thus taking the responsibility

of the act, they fully admitted that brutality, violence, and cowardly

attempts at assassination are natural characteristics of slavery. A

thrill of horror went through the civilized world on this occasion. All

the free States felt themselves outraged. That an attempt should be

made to kill in his seat a Northern man, for words spoken in debate,

was a gross insult and wrong to the nation, and deepened everywhere the

detestation felt for the system.

But madness must have its perfect work. One more step remained to be

taken by the slave power, and that was to claim the right, under the

Constitution, and protected by the general government, to carry slaves

and slavery into all the Territories. It was not enough that they were

not prohibited by acts of Congress. They must not allow the people of

the Territories to decide for themselves whether slavery should exist

among them or not. It had a right to exist there, in spite of the

people. A single man from South Carolina, going with his slaves into

Nebraska, should have the power of making that a slave State, though

all the rest of its inhabitants wished it to be free. And if he were

troubled by his neighbors, he had a right to call on the military power

of the United States to protect him against them. Such was the doctrine

of the Dred Scott case, such the doctrine accepted by the majority

of the United States Senate under the lead of Jefferson Davis in the

spring of 1859. Such was the doctrine demanded by the Southern members

of the Democratic Convention in Charleston, S. C., in May, 1860,

and, failing to carry it, they broke up that convention. And it was

because they were defeated in this purpose of carrying slavery into the

Territories that they seceded from the Union, and formed the Southern

Confederacy.

They had gained a long succession of political triumphs, which we

have briefly traced in this article. They had annexed Texas, and

made another slave State of that Territory. They had established the

principle that slavery was not to be excluded by law from any of the

Territories of the nation. They had repealed the Missouri Compromise,

passed the Fugitive Slave Law, obtained the Dred Scott decision from

the Supreme Court. In all this they had been aided by the Democratic

party, and were sure of the continued help of that party. With these

allies, they were certain to govern the country for a long period of

years. The President, the Senate, the Supreme Court, were all on their

side. As regarded slavery in the States, there was nothing to threaten

its existence there. The Republicans proposed only to restrict it to

the region where it actually existed, but could not and would not

meddle with it therein. If the slave power had been satisfied with

this, it seems probable that it might have retained its ascendency in

the country for a long period. An immense region was still open to its

colonies. Cotton was still king, and the slaveholders possessed all

the available cotton-growing regions. They were wealthy, they were

powerful, they governed the nation. They threw all this power away by

seceding from the Union. Why did they do this?

The frequent answer to this question is contained in the proverb,

"Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad." No doubt this act

was one of madness, and no doubt it was providential. But Providence

works not by direct interference, but by maintaining the laws of cause

and effect. Why did they become so mad? Why this supreme folly of

relinquishing actual enormous power, in order to set their lives and

fortunes on the hazard of a die?

It seems to be the doom of all vaulting ambition to overleap itself,

and to fall on the other side. When Macbeth had gained all his ends,

when he had become Thane of Cawdor and Glamis, and king, he had no

peace, because the succession had been promised to Banquo:--

"Upon my head they placed a fruitless crown,

And put a barren sceptre in my gripe,

Thence to be wrenched with an unlineal hand,

No son of mine succeeding. If't be so,

For _Banquo's_ issue have I filed my mind,

For _them_ the gracious Duncan have I murthered,

Put rancors in the vessel of my peace.

... To make _them_ kings, the seed of Banquo kings!

Rather than so, come fate into the list,

And champion me to the utterance."

When Napoleon the First was master of nearly all Europe, he could not

be satisfied while England resisted his power, and Russia had not

submitted to it. So _he_ also said,--

"Rather than so, come fate into the list,

And champion me to the utterance."

He also threw away all his immense power because he could not arrest

his own course or limit his own demands on fate. Such ambitions cannot

stop, so long as there is anything unconquered or unpossessed. "All

this avails me nothing, so long as I see Mordecai the Jew sitting at

the king's gate." The madness which seizes those greedy of power is

like the passion of the gamester, who is unable to limit his desire

of gain. By this law of insatiable ambition Providence equalizes

destinies, and power is prevented from being consolidated in a few

hands.

The motive which actuates these ambitions, and makes them think that

nothing is gained so long as anything remains to be gained, seems to

be a secret fear that they are in danger of losing all unless they can

obtain more.

This inward dread appears to have possessed the hearts of the Southern

slaveholders. Since slavery has been abolished, many of them admit that

they have more content in their present poverty than they formerly

had in their large possessions. They were then sensitive to every

suggestion which touched their institution. Hence their persecution

of Abolitionists, hence their cruelty to the slaves themselves,--for

cruelty is often the child of fear. Hence the atrocity of the slave

laws. Hence the desire to secure more and larger guaranties from the

United States for their institution. Every rumor in the air troubled

them. The fact that antislavery opinion existed at the North, that it

was continually increasing, that a great political party was growing

up which was opposed to their system, that such men as Garrison and

Wendell Phillips existed in Boston, that Seward and Sumner were in

the Senate,--all this was intolerable. The only way of accounting for

Southern irritability, for Southern aggressions, for its perpetual

demand for more power, is to be found in this latent terror. They

doubted whether the foundations of their whole system were not rotten;

they feared that it rested on falsehood and lies; they secretly felt

that it was contrary to the will of God; an instinct in their souls

told them that it was opposed to the spirit of the age and the laws of

progress; and this fear made them frantic.

When men's minds are in this state, they are like the glass toy called

a Rupert's bubble. A single scratch on the surface causes it to fly

in pieces. The scratch on the surface of the slave system which

caused it to rush into secession and civil war was the attempt of

John Brown on Harper's Ferry. It seemed a trifle, but it indicated a

great deal. It was the first drop of a coming storm. When one man was

able to lay down his life, in a conflict with their system, with such

courage and nobleness, in a cause not his own, a shudder ran through

the whole South. To what might this grow? And so they said, "Let us

cut ourselves wholly off from these dreadful fanaticisms, from these

terrible dangers. Let us make a community of our own, and shut out from

it entirely all antislavery opinion, and live only with those who think

as we do." And so came the end.

In reviewing Mr. Wilson's work, we have thus seen how it describes

the gradual and simultaneous growth in the United States of two

hostile powers,--one political, the other moral. The one continued to

accumulate the outward forces which belong to the organization; the

other, the inward forces which are associated with enthusiasm. The one

added continually to its external strength by the passage of new laws,

the addition of new territory, the more absolute control of parties,

government, courts, the press, and the street. The other increased its

power by accumulating an intenser conviction, a clearer knowledge, a

firmer faith, and a more devoted consecration to its cause. The weapons

of the one were force, adroitness, and worldly interest; those of the

other, faith in God, in man, and in truth.

Great truths draw to their side noble auxiliaries. So it was with the

antislavery movement. The heroism, the romance, the eloquence, the

best literature, the grandest forms of religion, the most generous

and purest characters,--all were brought to it by a sure affinity.

As Wordsworth said to Toussaint l'Ouverture, so it might be declared

here:--

"Thou hast great allies;

Thy friends are exaltations, agonies,

And love, and man's unconquerable mind."

The best poets of America, Bryant, Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, were

in full sympathy with this cause, and their best poetry was their songs

for freedom. Shall we ever forget the caustic humor of "Hosea Biglow"

and "Birdofredum Sawin"? And how lofty a flight of inspiration did the

same bard take, when he chanted in verses nobler, as it seems to us,

than anything since Wordsworth's "Ode to Immortality," the Return of

the Heroes who had wrought salvation for the dear land "bright beyond

compare" among the nations! What heroism, what tenderness, what stern

rebuke, what noble satire, have attended every event in this long

struggle, from the lyre of Whittier! Nothing in Campbell excels the

ring of some of his trumpet-calls, nothing in Cowper the pathos of his

elegies over the martyrs of freedom. The best men and the best women

were always to be found at the meetings of the Antislavery Society.

There were to be seen such upright lawyers as Ellis Gray Loring and

Samuel E. Sewall and John A. Andrew, such eminent writers as Emerson,

such great preachers as Theodore Parker and Beecher, such editors as

Bryant and Greeley. To this cause did William Ellery Channing devote

his last years and best thoughts. If the churches as organizations

stood aloof, being only "timidly good," as organizations are apt

to be, the purest of their body were sure to be found in this great

company of latter-day saints.

Antislavery men had their faults. They were often unjust to their

opponents, though unintentionally so. They were sometimes narrow and

bitter; and with them, as with all very earnest people, any difference

of opinion as to methods seemed to involve moral obliquity. But they

were doing the great work of the age,--the most necessary work of

all,--and much might be pardoned to their passionate love of justice

and humanity. In their meetings could be heard many of the ablest

speakers of the time, and one, the best of all. He held the silver bow

of Apollo, and dreadful was its clangor when he launched its shafts

against spiritual wickedness in high places. Those deadly arrows were

sometimes misdirected, and occasionally they struck the good men who

were meaning to do their duty. Such errors, we suppose, are incident

to all who are speaking and acting in such terrible earnest; in the

great day of accounts many mistakes will have to be rectified. But

surely among the goodly company of apostles and prophets, and in the

noble army of martyrs there assembled, few will be found more free from

the sins of selfish interest and personal ambition than those who in

Congress, in the pulpit, on the platform, or with the pen, fought the

great battle of American freedom.

One great moral must be drawn from this story before we close. It

demonstrates, by a great historical proof, that no evil however

mighty, no abuse however deeply rooted, can resist the power of truth

faithfully uttered and steadily applied. If this great institution of

slavery, resting on such a foundation of enormous pecuniary interest,

buttressed by such powerful supports, fell in the life of a single

generation before the unaided power of truth, why should we ever

despair? Henceforth, whenever a mighty evil is to be assailed, or

a cruel despotism overthrown, men will look to this history of the

greatness and decadence of slavery; and, so encouraged, will believe

that God is on the side of justice, and that truth will always prevail

against error.

But to this we must add, that it is only where free institutions exist

that truth has full power in such a conflict. We need free speech,

a free press, free schools, and free churches, in order that truth

may have a free course. The great advantage of a republic like ours

is, that it gives to truth a fair chance in its conflict with error.

The Southern States would long ago have abolished slavery if it had

possessed such institutions. But, though republican in form, the

Southern States were in reality an oligarchy, in which five millions

of whites and three millions of slaves were governed by the absolute

and irresponsible power of less than half a million of slaveholders.

Freedom was permitted by them except when this institution was

concerned, then it was absolutely forbidden. No book written against

their peculiar institution could be printed on any Southern press or

sold in any Southern bookstore. No newspaper attacking slavery was

allowed to be circulated through Southern mails. No public meeting

could be held to discuss the right and wrong of slavery. No minister

could preach against the system. No man could express, even in

conversation, his hostility to it, without risk of personal injury.

An espionage as sharp, and an inquisition as relentless as those of

Venice or Spain, governed society, at least in the cotton and sugar

States of the Union. But at the North opinion was free, and therefore

slavery fell. Fisher Ames compressed in an epigram the evil and good of

republican institutions. "In a monarchy," said he, "we are in a ship,

very comfortable while things go well; but strike a rock, and we go to

the bottom. In a republic, we are on a raft; our feet are wet, and it

is not always agreeable, but we are safe." It is a lasting proof of the

conservative power of free institutions, that they were able to uproot

such a system as slavery by creating a moral force capable of putting

it down; that they could carry us through a civil war, still leaving

the press and speech free: that they stood the strain of a presidential

election without taking from the voters a single right; and so, at

last, conquered a rebellion on so vast a scale that every European

monarchy, with its immense standing army, would have been powerless in

its presence. Let those Americans who are disposed to disparage their

own institutions bear this history in mind. We have evils here, and

great ones; but they come at once to the surface, and therefore can be

met and overcome by the power of intelligent opinion. So it has always

been in the past; so it will be, God aiding us, in the future. We are

about to meet the Centennial Anniversary of our national life; and on

that day we can look back to our fathers, the founders of the Republic,

and say to them,--"You gave us the inestimable blessing of free

institutions; we have used those institutions to destroy the only great

evil which you transmitted to us untouched. We now can send down the

Republic to our children, pure from this stain, and capable of enduring

IN SECULA SECULORUM."