"This fellow,
For six sols more, would plead against his Maker."[155]
But I undertake to affirm that no usage, professional or social, can give any apology for joining the pack of the Slave-Hunter. Mr. Dunning, one of the persons in this predicament, showed that he acted against his better nature.[156] The first words in his argument were: "It is incumbent on me to justify the detainer of the negro." Pray, why incumbent on him? He was then careful to show that he did not maintain any absolute property in him; and he proceeded to say, among other things, that it was his misfortune to address an audience, the greater part of which, he feared, was prejudiced the other way,—that, for himself, he would not be understood to intimate a wish in favor of Slavery, but that he was bound in duty to maintain those arguments most useful to the claimant, so far as consistent with the truth; and he concluded with this conscience-stricken appeal: "I hope, therefore, I shall not suffer in the opinion of those whose honest passions are fired at the name of Slavery; I hope I have not transgressed my duty to Humanity."[157] Clearly the lawyer had transgressed his duty to Humanity. No man can rightfully enforce a principle which violates human nature; nor can any subtilty of dialectics, any extent of erudition, or any grandeur of intellect sustain him. Notwithstanding the character for liberal principles which John Dunning acquired, and which breathes in his sensitive excuses,—notwithstanding his double fame at once in Westminster Hall and Saint Stephen's Chapel,—notwithstanding the peerage which he won,—this odious service rendered to a Slave-Hunter, calling himself a Virginia gentleman, cries in judgment against him, and will continue to cry, as time advances. (Do not start, Mr. President,—I am narrating occurrences in another hemisphere and another century.) As well undertake a Slave-Hunt in the deserts of Africa as in the streets of London. As well pursue the fugitive with the hired whip of the overseer as with the hired argument of the lawyer. As well chase him with the baying of the blood-hound as with the tongue of the advocate. It is the lawyer's clear duty to uphold human rights, whether in the loftiest or the lowliest; and when he undertakes to uphold a wrong outrageous as Slavery, his proper function is so far reversed that he can be aptly described only in the phrase of the Roman Church, Advocatus Diaboli, the Devil's Advocate.
Passing from counsel to court, we find occasion for gratitude and sorrow. The three judges, Aston, Willes, and Ashhurst, who sat at the side of Lord Mansfield, were silent through the whole proceedings, overawed, perhaps, by his commanding authority, so that he alone seems to be present. Of large intellect, and extensive studies, running into all regions of learning,—with a silver-tongued voice, and an amenity of manner which gave constant charm to his presence,—with unsurpassed professional and political experience combined,—early companion of Pope, and early competitor of Pitt,—having already once refused the post of Prime Minister, and three times refused the post of Chancellor,—he stood forth, at the period when the poor slave was brought before him, an acknowledged master of jurisprudence, and, take him for all in all, the most finished magistrate England had then produced. But his character had one fatal defect, too common on the bench. He lacked moral firmness,—happily not lacking in Granville Sharp. Still more, he was not naturally on the side of Liberty, as becomes a great judge, but always, by blood and instinct, on the side of prerogative and power,—an offence for which he was arraigned by his contemporary, Junius, and for which posterity will hold him to strict account. But his luminous mind, prompt to perceive the force of principles, could not resist the array of argument now marshalled for Freedom. He saw clearly that a system like Slavery could not find home under the British Constitution, which nowhere mentions the name Slave; and yet he shrank from the sublime conclusion. More than once he coquetted with the merchants, who had the case so much at heart, and twice ignobly suggested that the claimant might avoid the decision of the great question, fraught with Freedom or Slavery to multitudes, simply by manumitting the individual. And when at last the case could not be arrested by any device, or be longer postponed,—when judgment was inevitable,—he came to the work, not warmly or generously, but in trembling obedience to the Truth, which waited to be declared.
On other occasions, of purely commercial character, his judgments are more learned and elaborate, besides being reported with more completeness and care; but no judgment of equal significance ever fell from the great Oracle. From various sources I have sought its precise import.[158] It is remarkable for several rules, which it clearly enunciates, and which, though often assaulted, still stand as reason and as law. Of these, the first is expressed in these simple words: "If the parties will have judgment, fiat justitia, ruat cœlum: let justice be done, whatever be the consequence." The Latin phrase which here plays such a prominent part, though of classical stamp, cannot be traced to any classical origin, and it has even been asserted that it was freshly coined by Lord Mansfield on this occasion, worthy of such commanding truth in such commanding phrase. But it is of older date, and from another mint,—though it is not too much to say, that it took its currency and authority from him. Coming from such a conservative magistrate, it is of peculiar importance. With little expansion, it says openly: To every man his natural rights; justice to all, without distinction of person, without abridgment, and without compromise. Let justice be done, though it drags down the pillars of the sky. Thus spoke the Chief Justice of England.[159]
And still another rule, hardly less important or less commanding, was clearly proclaimed in these penetrating words: "I care not for the supposed dicta of judges, however eminent, if they be contrary to all principle"; or, in other language, In vain do you invoke great names in the law, even the names of Hardwicke and Talbot, and my own learned associate, Blackstone, in behalf of an institution which defies reason and outrages justice. Human precedent is powerless against immutable principle. Thus again spoke the Chief Justice of England.
Braced by these rules, the next stages were logically easy. And here he uttered words which are like a buttress to Freedom. He declared, that, tracing Slavery to natural principles, it can never be supported: that is to say, Slavery is a violation of the great law of Nature, established by God himself, coextensive in space and time with the Universe. Again he proclaimed, Slavery cannot stand on any reason, moral or political, but only by virtue of positive law; and he clinched his conclusion by the unquestionable truth, that, in a matter so odious, the evidence and authority of this law must be taken strictly: in other words, a wrong like Slavery, which finds no support in natural law or in reason, can be maintained, if at all, only by some dread mandate, from some sovereign authority, irresistibly clear and incapable of a double sense, which declares in precise and unequivocal terms, that men guilty of no crime may be held as slaves, and be submitted to the bargains of the market-place, the hammer of the auctioneer, and the hunt of the blood-hound. Clearly no such mandate could be shown in England. After asserting the obvious truth, that rights cannot depend on any discrimination of color, and thus discarding the profane assumptions of race, while he quoted apt Roman authority,—
"Quamvis ille niger, quamvis tu candidus esses,"
the Chief Justice concluded, "And therefore let the negro be discharged." Such was this immortal judgment. I catch its last words, already resounding through the ages, with the voice of deliverance to an enslaved people.
From Westminster Hall, where he had been held so long in painful suspense, the happy freedman, with glad tidings of deliverance, hurried to his angel protector, Granville Sharp, who, though organizing and sustaining these proceedings, was restrained by unobtrusive modesty from all attendance in court, that he might in no wise irritate the Chief Justice, unfortunately prepossessed against his endeavor. And thus closed the most remarkable constitutional battle in English history, fought by a simple clerk, once apprentice to a linen-draper, against the merchants of London, backed by great names in law, and by the most exalted magistrate of the age. Like the stripling David, he went forth to the contest with only a sling and a few smooth stones from the brook; and Goliath fell prostrate. Not merely the individual slave, but upwards of fourteen thousand human beings,—four times as many slaves as could be counted throughout New England at the adoption of the National Constitution,—rejoiced in emancipation; a slave-hunt was made impossible in the streets of London; and a great principle was set up which will stand forever as a Landmark of Freedom.