A number of excellent women, most of them of the “Society of Friends,”
were in constant attendance upon the meetings of the Convention, which
continued three days successively, without adjournment for dinner. On
the afternoon of the second day, in the midst of a very interesting
debate (I think it was on the use of the productions of slave-labor),
a sweet female voice was heard. It was Lucretia Mott’s. She had risen
and commenced speaking, but was hesitating, because she feared the
larger part of the Convention not being Quakers might think it “a
shame for a woman to speak in a church,” and she was unwilling to give
them offence. Her beautiful countenance was radiant with the thoughts
that had moved her to speak; and the expression was made all the more
engaging by the emotion of deference to the supposed prejudices of her
auditors, with which it was suffused.
Our President, Beriah Green, conferred not with flesh and blood, but,
filled as he was with the liberal spirit of the apostle who wrote,
“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither male nor female;
for ye are all one in Christ Jesus,” at once, without waiting for the
formal sanction of the Convention, cried out in the most encouraging,
cordial tone, “Go on, ma’am, we shall all be glad to hear you.” “Go
on,” “Go on,” was responded by many voices. She did go on; and no man
who was there will dissent from me when I add that she made a more
impressive and effective speech than any other that was made in the
Convention, excepting only our President’s closing address.
Lucretia Mott afterwards spoke repeatedly; and one or two graceful
amendments of the language of our Declaration were made at her
suggestion. Two other excellent women also took part in our
discussions,--Esther Moore and Lydia White,--and they spoke to good
purpose. Now, that no brother was scandalized by this procedure (and
there were several there who afterwards opposed us on the “woman
question,”) we have evidence enough in the following resolution, which
was passed near the close of the third day, without dissent or a word
to qualify or limit its application: “_Resolved_, that the thanks
of the Convention be presented to our female friends for the deep
interest they have manifested in the cause of antislavery, during the
long and fatiguing session of the Convention.” Was not the fact that
three of our female friends had taken an active part in our meetings,
had repeatedly “spoken in the church”--must not this fact have been
prominent to the view of every one who was called to vote on the above
resolution? And yet I do aver that I heard not a word, either in or out
of the hall, censuring their course, or expressing regret that they
had been allowed to take part in our discussions. Far otherwise. It
seemed to be regarded as another of the many indications we had seen
of the deep hold which the antislavery cause had taken of the public
heart. We remembered in the history of our race that, (although women
had ordinarily kept themselves in the retirement of domestic life,)
in the great emergencies of humanity,--in those imminent crises which
have tried men’s souls, and from which we date the signal advances
of civilization,--women have always been conspicuous at the martyr’s
stake, in the councils of Church and State, and even in the conduct of
armies. We therefore hailed the deep interest manifested by them in
the cause of our oppressed countrymen, as an omen that another triumph
of humanity was at hand. No one suggested that it would be well to
invite the women to enroll their names as members of the Convention
and sign the Declaration. It was not thought of in season. But I
have not a doubt, such was the spirit of that assembly, that, if the
proposal had been made, it would have been acceded to joyfully by a
large majority, if not by all. We had not convened there to shape our
enterprise to the received opinions or usages of any sect or party. We
were not careful to do what might please “the scribes and pharisees and
rulers of the people.” We had come together at the cry of suffering,
wronged, outraged millions. We had come to say and do what, we hoped,
would rouse the nation to a sense of her tremendous iniquity. We were
willing, we were anxious, that all who had ears to hear should hear
“the truth which only tyrants dread.” And I have no doubt, that at
that time all immediate Abolitionists would have readily consented that
every one (man or woman) who had the _power_ had also the _right_ to
utter that truth; to utter it with the pen or with the living voice;
to utter it at the fireside in the private circle, or to the largest
congregation from the pulpit, or, if need be, from the house-top. It
was not then in our hearts to bid any one be silent, who might be
moved to plead for the down-trodden millions in our country who were
not permitted to speak for themselves. We were willing “that the very
stones should cry out,” if they would.
The subjects that elicited most discussion in the Convention were
Colonization; the use of the productions of slave-labor; the doctrine
of compensation; and the duty of relying wholly on moral power. The
results to which we came are expressed in the Constitution, the
Declaration, or the Resolutions that were passed.
No one can read the published minutes of our proceedings, and not
perceive how emphatically and solemnly we avowed the determination not
to commit the cause we had espoused in any way to an arm of flesh,
but to trust wholly to the power of truth and the influence of the
Holy Spirit to change the hearts of slaveholders and their abettors.
This principle, which was repudiated by a portion of the American
Antislavery Society under the excitement caused by the murder of
Lovejoy in 1837, was accounted by a large majority of the Convention
as _the principle_ upon which our enterprise should be prosecuted, or
could be brought to a peaceful triumph. Those only who were ready to
take up the cross, to suffer loss, shame, and even death, seemed to
us then fit to engage in the work we proposed. The third article of
the Constitution was as follows: “This Society will never, in any way,
countenance the oppressed in vindicating their rights by physical
force.” And the pacific spirit and intentions of the Society were still
more distinctively and emphatically set forth in the Declaration, in
exposition of the third article above quoted. That document begins
with an allusion to the Magna Charta of the American Revolution, which
was prepared and signed fifty-seven years before in the very city
where we were assembled. It exhibits clearly the contrast between our
philanthropic enterprise and that of our fathers. It says: “_Their_
principles led them to _wage war_ against their oppressors, and to
spill human blood like water in order to be free. _Ours_ forbid the
doing of evil that good may come, and lead us to reject, and entreat
the oppressed to reject, the use of any carnal weapons for deliverance
from bondage; relying solely upon those which are spiritual and ‘mighty
through God’ to the pulling down of strongholds. _Their_ measures were
physical,--the marshalling in arms, the hostile array, the mortal
encounter. _Ours_ shall be such only as the opposition of moral purity
to moral corruption, the destruction of error by the potency of truth,
the overthrow of prejudice by the power of love, the abolition of
slavery by the spirit of repentance.”
This language was not adopted hastily or inconsiderately. Its import
was duly weighed. A few of the members hesitated. They were not
non-resistants. They were not, at first, ready to say they would not
fight, if they should be roughly used by the opposers of our cause. But
it was strenuously urged in reply that, whatever might be true as to
the right of self-defence, in the prosecution of our great undertaking,
_violent_ resistance to the injurious treatment we might receive would
have a disastrous effect. It was insisted that we ought to go forth
to labor for the abolition of slavery, in the spirit of _Christian_
reformers, expecting to be persecuted, and resolved never to return
evil for evil. The result of our discussion was that all the members
of the Convention signed the Declaration, thereby pledging themselves,
and all who should thereafter sign the Constitution--“Come what may
to our persons, our interests, or our reputations; whether we live
to witness the triumph of liberty, justice, and humanity, or perish
untimely as martyrs in this great, benevolent, and holy cause.”
Such was the spirit that at last pervaded the whole body. I cannot
describe the holy enthusiasm which lighted up every face as we gathered
around the table on which the Declaration lay, to put our names to
that sacred instrument. It seemed to me that every man’s heart was in
his hand,--as if every one felt that he was about to offer himself a
living sacrifice in the cause of _freedom_, and to do it cheerfully.
There are moments when heart touches heart, and souls flow into one
another. That was such a moment. I was in them and they in me; we were
all one. There was no need that each should tell the other how he felt
and what he thought, for we were in each other’s bosoms. I am sure
there was not, in all our hearts, the thought of ever making violent,
much less mortal, defence of the liberty of speech, or the freedom of
the press, or of our own persons, though we foresaw that they all would
be grievously outraged. Our President, Beriah Green, in his admirable
closing speech, gave utterance to what we all felt and intended should
be our course of conduct. He distinctly foretold the obloquy, the
despiteful treatment, the bitter persecution, perhaps even the cruel
deaths we were going to encounter in the prosecution of the undertaking
to which we had bound ourselves. Not an intimation fell from his lips
that, in any extremity, we were to resort to carnal weapons and fight
rather than die in the cause. Much less did he intimate that it might
ever be proper for us to defend, by deadly weapons, the liberty of
speech and the press. O no! The words which came glowing from his lips
were of a very different import. He exhorted us most solemnly, most
tenderly, to cherish the Holy Spirit which he felt was then in all
our hearts, and go forth to our several places of labor willing to
suffer shame, loss of property, and, if need be, even of life, in the
cause of human rights; but not intending to hurt a hair of the heads
of our opposers, whom we ought to regard in pity more than in anger.
Would that every syllable which he uttered had been engraven upon some
imperishable tablet! Would that the spirit which then inspired him had
been infused into the bosom of every one who has since engaged in the
antislavery cause!