1. That the seizure of the Rebel emissaries, without taking the ship into port, was wrong, inasmuch as a navy officer is not entitled to substitute himself for a judicial tribunal.
2. That, had the ship been carried into port, it would not have been liable on account of the Rebel emissaries, inasmuch as neutral ships are free to carry all persons not apparently in the military or naval service of the enemy.
3. Are despatches contraband of war, so as to render the ship liable to seizure?
4. Are neutral ships, carrying despatches, liable to be stopped between two neutral ports?
These I shall consider in their order, giving special attention to the first, which is the pivot of the British complaint. If, in this discussion, I expose grievances which it were better to forget, be assured it is from no willingness to revive the buried animosities they once so justly aroused, but simply to exhibit the proud position which the United States early and constantly maintained.
A question of International Law should not be presented on any mere argumentum ad hominem. It would be of little value to show that Captain Wilkes was sustained by British authority and practice, if he were condemned by International Law as interpreted by his own country. It belongs to us now, nay, let it be our pride, at any cost of individual prepossession or transitory prejudice, to uphold that law in all its force, as it was often declared by the best men in our history, and illustrated by national acts; and let us seize the present occasion to consecrate its positive and unequivocal recognition. In exchange for the prisoners set free, we receive from Great Britain a practical assent, too long deferred, to a principle early propounded by our country, and standing forth on every page of our history. The same voice that asks for their liberation renounces in the same breath an odious pretension, for whole generations the scourge of peaceful commerce.
Great Britain, throughout her municipal history, has practically contributed to the establishment of freedom beyond all other nations. There are at least seven institutions or principles which she has given to civilization: first, the trial by jury; secondly, the writ of Habeas Corpus; thirdly, the freedom of the press; fourthly, bills of rights; fifthly, the representative system; sixthly, the rules and orders of debate, constituting Parliamentary Law; and, seventhly, the principle that the air is too pure for a slave to breathe,—long ago declared, and first made a conspicuous reality, by British law. No other nation can show such peaceful triumphs. But, while thus entitled to gratitude for glorious contributions to Municipal Law, we turn with dissent and sorrow from much which she has sought to fasten upon International Law. In municipal questions, Great Britain drew inspiration from her own native Common Law, instinct with freedom; but, especially in maritime questions arising under the Law of Nations, this power seems to have acted on that obnoxious principle of the Roman Law, positively discarded in municipal questions, Quod principi placuit legis vigorem habet, and too often, under this inspiration, imposed upon weaker nations her own arbitrary will. A prerogative of the English monarch, mentioned in very express and pompous terms by early writers, was “the Custody of the Sea,” and he is frequently styled “The Sovereign Lord and Proprietor of the Sea.” But beyond these titles, the time has been when she pretended to actual sovereignty over the seas surrounding the British Isles, as far as Cape Finisterre to the south, and Vanstaten in Norway to the north. Driven from this lordly pretension, other pretensions, less local, but hardly less offensive, were avowed. The boast of “Britannia rules the waves” was practically adopted by British Prize Courts, and universal maritime rights were subjected to the special exigencies of British interests. In the consciousness of strength, and with an irresistible navy, this power has put chains upon the sea.
The commerce of the United States, as it began to whiten the ocean, was cruelly decimated. American ships and cargoes, while, in the language of Earl Russell, “pursuing a lawful and innocent voyage,” suffered from British Prize Courts more than from rock or tempest. Shipwreck was less frequent than confiscation, and, when it came, was easier to bear. But the loss of property stung less than the outrage of impressment, by which foreigners, under protection of the American flag, and also American citizens, without any form of trial, and at the mere mandate of a navy officer, who for the moment acted as a judicial tribunal, were dragged from the deck which should have been to them a sacred altar. This outrage, insolently vindicated by the municipal claim of Great Britain to the services of her subjects, was enforced arrogantly and perpetually on the high seas, where Municipal Law is silent and International Law alone prevails. The belligerent right of search, derived from International Law, and justly applicable to enemy property or contraband only, and not to men, was employed for this purpose, and the quarter-deck of every English cruiser became a floating judgment-seat. The leading organ of opinion in England, on the morning after the news that the Rebels had been taken from a British ship, thus confessed the precedents of British history:—