“It appears to me,” I replied, “that if the disposal of these lands is in your hands, you must be supposed to exert
some will and discretion. Stat pro ratione voluntas is a good axiom here. We are not at all in statu quo ante bellum—in fact, the war is not at an end, nor decided. Your duty is to act for the good of the country, and not simply to skin the enemy like a bushwhacker, but to pacify the people. Victor volentes per populos dat jura—laws should always be mildly interpreted. In your case, considering the very critical condition of the country, I should in equity give the man his property, and take his oath of allegiance. Severe measures are not advisable—quod est violentum, non est durabile.”
This is, I believe, pretty accurately what I said. That evening, as I was sitting with General Whipple, he amazed me by addressing me exactly as Mr. Harrison had done in the morning.
“I say, Leland, you’re a lawyer, and I want your advice. There are six warehouses here, and I want them badly for military stores. But Horace Harrison says that I can’t have them, because he holds them for the United States. What am I to do?”
“General Whipple,” I replied, “is this town under military occupation in time of war, or is it not?”
“Most decidedly it is.”
“So I should think from the way your patrols bother me. And if such is the case, all things must yield to military wants. Where we have no legal principles or courts to decide, we must fall back on legal axioms. And here the law is clear and explicit, for it says, Inter arma leges silent—the laws are suspended in warfare.”
“A magnificent saying!” exclaimed the General admiringly. “Ah! you ought to be in the Supreme Court.” And seizing a pen he wrote to the State Attorney:—
“Sir: This town, being but recently captured from the enemies of the United States, is, of course, under military occupation, which renders absolutely necessary for military purpose many temporary seizures and uses, such as that of the six warehouses referred to in our late correspondence. As regards legal precedent and principle, I need not remind one of your learning that—(I say, Leland, how do you spell that Latin?—I-n-t-e-r—yes, I’ve got it)—Inter arma silent leges.”
I am afraid that Horace Harrison, when he got that letter, suspected that I had been acting as counsel for both sides. However, as I took no fee, my conscience was at rest. I think that I was of great use to General Whipple at that time, and, as he said one day, an unofficial secretary. Great and serious matters passed through our hands (for the General and Harrison were taking the lead in virtually reforming the whole frontier or debatable land), and these grand affairs were often hurried through “like hot cakes.” My slender legal attainments were several times in requisition on occasions when the head of the Supreme Court would have been a more appropriate referee. I discovered, however, that there was really a department of law in which I might have done good work. Questions of very serious importance were often discussed and disposed of among us three with very great economy of time and trouble. And here I may say—“excuse the idle word”—that I wonder that I never in all my life fell into even the most trifling diplomatic or civil position, when, in the opinion of certain eminent friends, I possess several qualifications for such a calling—that is, quickness in mastering the legal bearings of a question, a knowledge of languages and countries, readiness in drawing up papers, and an insatiable love of labour, which latter I have not found to be always possessed by the accomplished gentlemen whom our country employs abroad.