This is what I proposed six years ago, and as one in a series of propositions to be offered to Texas and Mexico for settling all questions growing out of the projected annexation beforehand. They were not adopted. Immediate annexation, without regard to consequences, was the cry; and all temperate counsels were set down to British traitors, abolitionists, and whigs. Well! we have to regard consequences now—several consequences: one of which is this large extension of slavery, which the report and conglomerate bills of the Committee of Thirteen force us to face. I did so six years ago, and heard no outbreak against my opinions then. But my opposition to the extension of slavery dates further back than 1844—forty years further back; and as this is a suitable time for a general declaration, and a sort of general conscience delivery, I will say that my opposition to it dates from 1804, when I was a student at law in the State of Tennessee, and studied the subject of African slavery in an American book—a Virginia book—Tucker's edition of Blackstone's Commentaries. And here it is (holding up a volume and reading from the title-page): "Blackstone's Commentaries, with notes of reference to the Constitution and laws of the Federal Government of the United States, and of the Commonwealth of Virginia, in five volumes, with an appendix to each volume containing short tracts, as appeared necessary to form a connected view of the laws of Virginia as a member of the Federal Union. By St. George Tucker, Professor of Law in the University of William and Mary, and one of the Judges of the General Court in Virginia." In this American book—this Virginia edition of an English work—I found my principles on the subject of slavery. Among the short tracts in the appendices, is one of fifty pages in the appendix to the first volume, second part, which treats of the subject of African slavery in the United States, with a total condemnation of the institution, and a plan for its extinction in Virginia. In that work—in that school—that old Virginia school which I was taught to reverence—I found my principles on slavery: and adhere to them. I concur in the whole essay, except the remedy—gradual emancipation—and find in that remedy the danger which the wise men of Virginia then saw and dreaded, but resolved to encounter, because it was to become worse with time: the danger to both races from so large an emancipation. The men of that day were not enthusiasts or fanatics: they were statesmen and philosophers. They knew that the emancipation of the black slave was not a mere question between master and slave—not a question of property merely—but a question of white and black—between races; and what was to be the consequence to each race from a large emancipation.[10] And there the wisdom, not the philanthropy, of Virginia balked fifty years ago; there the wisdom of America balks now. And here I find the largest objection to the extension of slavery—to planting it in new regions where it does not now exist—bestowing it on those who have it not. The incurability of the evil is the greatest objection to the extension of slavery. It is wrong for the legislator to inflict an evil which can be cured: how much more to inflict one that is incurable, and against the will of the people who are to endure it for ever! I quarrel with no one for supposing slavery a blessing: I deem it an evil: and would neither adopt it nor impose it on others. Yet I am a slaveholder, and among the few members of Congress who hold slaves in this District. The French proverb tells us that nothing is new but what has been forgotten. So of this objection to a large emancipation. Every one sees now that it is a question of races, involving consequences which go to the destruction of one or the other: it was seen fifty years ago, and the wisdom of Virginia balked at it then. It seems to be above human wisdom. But there is a wisdom above human! and to that we must look. In the mean time, not extend the evil.
In refusing to extend slavery into these seventy thousand square miles, I act in conformity not only to my own long-established principles, but also in conformity to the long-established practice of Congress. Five times in four years did Congress refuse the prayer of Indiana for a temporary suspension of the anti-slavery clause of the ordinance of '87. On the 2d of March, 1803, Mr. Randolph, of Roanoke, as chairman of the committee to which the memorial praying the suspension was referred, made a report against it, which was concurred in by the House. This is the report:
"That the rapid population of the State of Ohio, sufficiently evinces, in the opinion of your committee, that the labor of slaves is not necessary to promote the growth and settlement of colonies in that region. That this labor, demonstrably the dearest of any, can only be employed to advantage in the cultivation of products more valuable than any known to that quarter of the United States: that the committee deem it highly dangerous and inexpedient to impair a provision wisely calculated to promote the happiness and prosperity of the north-western country, and to give strength and security to that extensive frontier. In the salutary operation of this sagacious and benevolent restraint, it is believed that the inhabitants of Indiana will, at no very distant day, find ample remuneration for a temporary privation of labor and of emigration."
This report of Mr. Randolph was in 1803: the next year, March, 1804, a different report, on the same prayer, was made by a committee of which Mr. Rodney, of Delaware, was chairman. It recommended a suspension of the anti-slavery clause for ten years: it was not concurred in by the House. Two years afterwards, February, 1806, a similar report, recommending suspension for ten years, was made by a committee of which Mr. Garnett, of Virginia, was chairman: it met the same fate—non-concurrence. The next year, 1807, both Houses were tried. In February of that year, a committee of the House, of which Mr. Parke was chairman, reported in favor of the indefinite suspension of the clause: the report was not concurred in. And in November of that year, Mr. Franklin, of North Carolina, as chairman of a committee of the Senate, made a report against the suspension, which was concurred in by the Senate, and unanimously, as it would seem from the journal, there being no division called for. Thus, five times in four years, the respective Houses of Congress refused to admit even a temporary extension, or rather re-extension of slavery into Indiana territory, which had been before the ordinance of '87 a slave territory, holding many slaves at Vincennes. These five refusals to suspend the ordinance of '87, were so many confirmations of it. All the rest of the action of Congress on the subject, was to the same effect or stronger. The Missouri compromise line was a curtailment of slave territory; the Texas annexation resolutions were the same; the ordinance of '87 itself, so often confirmed by Congress, was a curtailment of slave territory—in fact, its actual abolition; for it is certain that slavery existed in fact in the French settlements of the Illinois at that time; and that the ordinance terminated it. I acted then in conformity to the long, uniformly established policy of Congress, as well as in conformity to my own principles, in refusing to vote the extension of slavery, which the committee's line would involve.
And here, it does seem to me that we, of the present day, mistake the point of the true objection to the extension of slavery. We look at it as it concerns the rights, or interests, of the inhabitants of the States! and not as it may concern the people to whom it is to be given! and to whom it is to be an irrevocable gift—to them, and posterity! Mr. Randolph's report, in the case of Indiana, took the true ground. It looked to the interests of the people to whom the slavery was to go, and refused them an evil, although they begged for it.
This is a consequence which the committee's bill involves, and from which there is no escape but in the total rejection of their plan, and the adoption of the line which I propose—the longitudinal line of 102—which, corresponding with ancient title and actual possession, avoids the question of slavery in either country: which, leaving the population of each untouched, disturbs no interest, and which, in splitting the high sterile table land of the Staked Plain, conforms to the natural division of the country, and leaves to each a natural frontier, and an ample extent of compact and homogeneous territory. To Texas is left all the territory drained by all the rivers which have their mouths within her limits, whether those mouths are in the Gulf of Mexico, the Mississippi, or the Rio Grande: to New Mexico is left the whole course of the Rio Puerco and all its valley: and which, added to the valley of the Del Norte, will make a State of the first class in point of territory, susceptible of large population and wealth, and in a compact form, capable of defence against Indians. The Staked Plain is the natural frontier of both countries. It is a dividing wall between systems of waters and systems of countries. It is a high, sterile plain, some sixty miles wide upon some five hundred long, running north and south, its western declivity abrupt, and washed by the Puerco at its base: its eastern broken into chasms—cañones—from which issue the myriad of little streams which, flowing towards the rising sun, form the great rivers—Red River, Brasos, Colorado, Nueces, which find their outlet in the Mississippi or in the Gulf of Mexico. It is a salient feature in North American geography—a table of land sixty miles wide, five hundred long, and some thousands of feet above the level of the sea—and sterile, level, without a shrub, a plant, or grass, and presenting to the traveller a horizon of its own like the ocean. Without a landmark to guide the steps of the traveller across it, the early hunters and herdsmen of New Mexico staked their course across it, and hence its name, El Llano Estacado—the Staked Plain. It is a natural frontier between New Mexico and Texas; and for such a line, quieting all questions between them, all with the United States, yielding near two hundred thousand square miles of territory to the United States and putting into her hands the means of populating and defending New Mexico by giving lands to settlers and defenders—I am ready to vote the fifteen millions which my bill fairly and openly proposes. For the line in this bill I would not give a copper. But it would be a great error to suppose I would give fifteen millions for the territory in dispute between New Mexico and Texas. That disputed territory is only a small part of what the Texian cession would be. It would embrace four degrees of latitude on the north of Texas, and a front of a thousand miles on the Arkansas, and would give to the United States territory indispensable to her—to the population and defence both of New Mexico and Utah, in front of both which this part of Texas lies.
The committee, in their report, and the senator from Kentucky [Mr. Clay], in his speech, are impressive in their representations in favor of giving governments to New Mexico and the remaining part of California. I join them in all they say in favor of the necessity of these governments, and the duty of Congress to give them. But this bill is not the way to give it. These governments are balked by being put into this bill. They not only impede California, but themselves. The conjunction is an injury to both. They mutually delay and endanger each other. And it is no argument in favor of the conjunction to say that the establishment of a government for New Mexico requires the previous settlement of her eastern boundary with Texas. That is no argument for tacking Texas, with all her multifarious questions, even to New Mexico, much less to California. It is indeed very desirable to settle that boundary, and to settle it at once, and for ever; but it is not an indispensability to the creation of a government for New Mexico. We have a right to a government according to her possession; and that we can give her, to continue till the question of title is decided. The uti possidetis—as you possess—is the principle to govern our legislation—the principle which gives the possessor a right to the possession until the question of title is decided. This principle is the same both in national and municipal law—both in the case of citizens or communities of the same government and between independent nations. The mode of decision only is different. Between independent nations it is done by negotiation or by arms: between citizens or communities of the same government, it is done by law. Independent nations may invade and fight each other for a boundary: citizens or communities of the same government cannot. And the party that shall attempt it commits a violation of law and order; and the government which permits such violation is derelict of its duty.
I have now examined, so far as I propose to do it on a motion for indefinite postponement, the three bills which the committee have tacked together—the California, Utah, New Mexico and Texas bills. There are two other bills which I have not mentioned, because they are not tacked, but only hung on; but which belong to the system, as it is called, and without some mention of which, injustice would be done to the committee in the presentation of their scheme. The fugitive slave recovery bill, and the District of Columbia slave trade suppression bill, are parts of the system of measures which the committee propose, and which, taken together, are to constitute a compromise, and to terminate for ever and most fraternally all the dissensions of the slavery agitation in the United States. They apply to two out of the five gaping wounds which the senator from Kentucky enumerated on the five fingers of his left hand, and for healing up all which at once he had provided one large plaster, big enough to cover all, and efficacious enough to cure all; while the President only proposed to cure one, and that with a little plaster, and it of no efficacy. I do not propose to examine these two attendant or sequacious bills, which dangle at the tail of the other three.
This is the end of the committee's labor—five old bills gathered up from our table, tacked together, and christened a compromise! Now compromise is a pretty phrase at all times, and is a good thing in itself, when there happens to be any parties to make it, any authority to enforce it, any penalties for breaking it, or any thing to be compromised. The compromises of the constitution are of that kind; and they stand. Compromises made in court, and entered of record, are of that kind; and they stand. Compromises made by individuals on claims to property are likewise of that character; and they stand. I respect all such compromises. But where there happens to be nothing to be compromised, no parties to make a compromise, no power to enforce it, no penalty for its breach, no obligation on any one—not even its makers—to observe it, and when no two human beings can agree about its meaning, then a compromise becomes ridiculous and pestiferous. I have no respect for it, and eschew it. It cannot stand, and will fall; and in its fall will raise up more ills than it was intended to cure. And of this character I deem this farrago of incongruous matter to be, which has been gathered up and stuck together, and offered to us "all or none," like "fifty-four forty." It has none of the requisites of a compromise, and the name cannot make it so.
In the first place, there are no parties to make a compromise. We are not in convention, but in Congress; and I do not admit a geographical division of parties in this chamber, although the Committee of Thirteen was formed upon that principle—six from the South, half a dozen from the North, and one from the borders of both—sitting on a ridge-pole, to keep the balance even. The senator from Kentucky chairman of this committee of a baker's dozen and the illustrious progenitor of that committee, sits on that ridge-pole. It is a most critical position, and requires a most nice adjustment of balance to preserve the equilibrium—to keep the weight from falling on one side or the other—something like that of the Roman emperor, in his apotheosis, who was required to fix himself exactly in the middle of the heavens when he went up among the gods, lest, by leaning on one side or the other, he might overset the universe: