“Whilst the jury have no right to decide the law, they must decide whether the facts come within the law!” If the jury is tied down by the Court’s construction of the law, is it not plain that they do not decide whether the fact is, or is not, embraced by the law? but that whilst they find naked fact, it is the Court that decides whether that fact does, or does not, come within the law? Gracious God! is it come to this? Are the great principles for which our forefathers contended, and many of yourselves have bled, now to be frittered away by technical sophistry? Is the same doctrine to be established here in capital offences—in cases of treason—that Lord Mansfield attempted to impose on the people of England as the law of libel, and which they would not endure? Shall principles of criminal law which they have scouted, even in cases not capital, be established here for the decision of capital offences? that whilst the jury finds the facts, their application to the law shall depend solely on the will of the Court? I deny the gentleman’s law; and assert that, as an American citizen, I would refuse to be bound by it. A man is charged with having committed certain treasonable acts. The constitution has defined treason to consist “in levying war against the United States, or in adhering to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort.” But the Court, assuming to themselves a more than Papal infallibility—the exclusive exposition and construction of the constitution—tell me, as a juror, to surrender into their hands my conscience and my understanding; that, as a levying of war is treason, so is the picking up of a pin a levying of war; that I, an unlearned layman, must not presume to expound the holy scripture of the constitution, but must leave that to the elect; and, if the fact of his having picked up the pin be proved to my satisfaction, I am bound to find the prisoner guilty of levying war against his country—to convict him of treason. Sir, the parallel runs on all-fours; for there is nothing to uphold this monstrous judicial assumption, but that which supported the pretensions of the Roman Pontiff—the willing obedience of ignorant superstition. If the jury is contumacious, if, whilst they confess their entire conviction of the truth of the fact charged in the indictment, they deny the legal doctrine and acquit the prisoner, the Court is without redress. They may bully and look big—there is no help. Put the case of murder. A killing with malice aforethought is charged upon the prisoner—there is no dispute about facts—it is admitted that the party arraigned did kill the deceased. Shall I, a juror, contenting myself with deciding a fact that nobody disputes, surrender to the Court the question of law, should they attempt to usurp it, (as that killing with a particular weapon is a killing with malice prepense,) and find a man guilty of murder whom I believe to have acted in self-defence?—in defence of life, or, what is dearer than life, of reputation? No, sir; I will not find him guilty, although all the courts in the universe should instruct me to do so. I will look to the great precept, “do as you would be done by,” and say, “I would have done so too, and, therefore, I will not say, that man ought not so to have done.” And what is there, sir, in the words, “levying of war” more unintelligible than in the words, “malice prepense?” The first, being altogether a matter of fact, would appear more exclusively the province of the jury than the last, which rather partakes of a question of opinion. If you leave the law in criminal cases to the jury, (as well as the fact,) you are safe; but if your decision should sanction the opposite doctrine, you set all our liberties, fixed by the decisions of ages, afloat on an ocean of uncertainty and contention. We have no beacon, no compass, no polar star to direct our course. If you suffer the rights of a jury to be thus invaded on a criminal trial—on a trial for life and death—you bind us in conclusions more fatal than those of the Church of Rome. You force us one moment to say whether such a fact amounts to such a crime, and, the next, you will not permit us to know what the crime is. I hope the marshal will never summon me on such a jury. I give him warning; I will never surrender the constitution, my understanding, and my oath to the “grim gribber” of a court of law. I should consider myself as much entitled to decide the law for the judge in a civil case, as bound by his decision of it in a criminal one. Vain and futile is the attempt of the constitution to settle and define treason, if that definition is to mean any thing or nothing at the option of a corrupt judge. If this doctrine, sir, be denied by any member of this honorable Court, let him, in his legislative capacity, move for a bill “to render juries more obedient to the judges, and especially in criminal cases.” Until that is done, I shall refuse obedience to their dictates, and act as a juror upon the principles which I have avowed.
Mr. President, much as I regret the trespass that I have already committed on your patience, I must (painful as it may be to you, and it is not less so to myself) attempt something like a review of the conduct of this judge. In May, 1800, you find him in Philadelphia, engaged in propagating and establishing the detestable doctrine of constructive and implied treason, which, in England, has proved the dreadful engine of persecution and murder. From thence you trace him to Annapolis; (not by the blood of John Fries—no thanks, however, to him for that;) you hear his declaration in presence of Mr. Mason. But this, his counsel tell you, was all a joke, nothing but humor, sir; like his conduct at Richmond. If you listen to them, you must become a Pythagorean, and believe that the soul of Yorick himself has transmigrated into the body of this judge. It is true he could not be the king’s jester, because, unfortunately, we have no king, we have not yet reached that stage of civilization; but, sir, he is the jester of the sovereign people, a jester at your laws and constitution, and it is for you to say whether he shall continue to exercise his function. This jocular conversation is likely to prove a bitter and biting jest to the respondent. So serious did that most intelligent and respectable witness deem it to be, that he locked it up in his own bosom, without venturing to mention it to any human being. He did not consider himself authorized to play with the fame of the respondent, however disposed he might be to sport with the feelings and rights of others. This merry fit lasted a long time. He indulges the same humor in the stage with Mr. Triplett, an entire stranger; and here let me observe, in justice to this gentleman, that never did any man deliver a more clear and unimpeachable testimony in a court of justice than this witness. It is conclusive. When the judge made personal declarations against Callender, could he be said to administer justice without respect to persons? But, sir, one of our adversaries (Mr. Harper) protests against this sort of evidence, and deems it highly inadmissible. Why? Because, forsooth, it violates the sanctity of private conversation, and wounds the feelings of gentlemen who may be called on as witnesses. Thank God! sir, we live in a country where the law is open to all, and knows no distinction between gentlemen and simple-men. No man, I trust, has a greater respect for the real gentleman than myself. When Francis I., the accomplished monarch of the most gallant people of Europe, deemed it his first distinction to be ranked as the first gentleman of his kingdom, he did not hold that sacred character in higher reverence than I do. But the respondent himself has told you that a court of justice is a coarse sort of thing, blind to these nice discriminations; that the polished address of a Chesterfield, and the rugged scowl of a Thurlow, in the eye of the law are equal. Suppose a person killed, will not the Court hear evidence of a previous declaration by the prisoner, of ill-will to the deceased, as “that he would be the death of him,” &c.? or, will they stop to ask whether it was uttered in a tippling-house, or a drawing-room; by a ruffian in rags, or in ermine? and yet we are accused of lying in wait for the respondent, of watching his unguarded and convivial hours, of wounding the nerve of social intercourse to the quick. We are ministers of justice, and as such, we know nothing of these delicate distresses, equally unknown to our forefathers, to the framers of our free and manly institutions. Their composition was of sterner stuff than this modern, flimsy, fashionable ware. To their robust constitutions and strong common-sense, these qualmish megrims, these sickly sensibilities of modern refinement were happily unknown.
Follow the respondent, then, with the steady and untired step of justice, from Philadelphia to Annapolis, from Annapolis to Richmond, and back again to Newcastle. You see a succession of crimes each treading on the heel, galling the kibe of the other—so connected in time, and place, and circumstance, and so illustrated by his own confessions, as to leave no shadow of doubt as to his guilt. You are to take the facts, not, as his counsel would have you, isolated and dismembered, but embodied; a series of acts indissolubly linked together, each supporting, each animated by the vital principle of guilt that pervades and gives life to the whole. God hath joined them; no man shall or can put them asunder. Carry your mind back to the state of things in 1800; then advert to the testimony in the case of Fries. Lewis, Dallas, Tilghman, and even Rawle, declaring that they had never witnessed such a proceeding before; pronouncing the conduct of the judge, on that occasion, to be altogether novel in the annals of our criminal jurisprudence. The same spirit pervades his whole career. But you are warned by the counsel (Mr. Harper) not to tarnish the laurels of your political victory by an unmanly triumph over a fallen adversary. He implores the tribute of a sigh for the mournful yew and funeral cypress that bedecks the hearse of his political reputation. Dreading the decision of your judgment, your sympathies are enlisted for his client. An aged patriot, whose head is whitened with the hoar of threescore and ten years, is presented to your afflicted imaginations: broken with disease, compelled to employ his few and short intervals from pain and sickness, to spend the last moments of a life devoted to a thankless country’s service, in defending himself against a criminal prosecution. Do we thirst for his blood? yet, even there, English authorities would bear us out. Do we seek to lead him to Tower Hill? If his heart will fly in his face, is it we who cast it there? Do we even ask his disfranchisement? No, sir, we only demand the removal of a man, whom the very suspicion of such crimes unfits for the high station which he fills. A man bent with age and infirmity, struggling with misfortune, is a venerable object, entitled to your sympathy, even although he were not a patriot. Mine shall never be denied to such a character. But, sir, mark the difference between Samuel Chase, powerful and protected, and John Fries, feeble and oppressed. Look at the one lodged in a sumptuous hotel, partaking of the best cheer, surrounded and supported by every comfort of life, by a large and respectable circle of friends, indulged with ample time for his defence, assisted by counsel second to none in the land, unrestricted in the conduct of their cause. When I give a man so situated my sympathy, it is not of so jejune a cast as to refuse itself to the victim of his injustice—a hardy yeoman wrestling with indigence and persecution—selling his last bit of property to support a long imprisonment and meet the expenses of this very prosecution; a soldier of the Revolution, with whom the words “stamp act” and “window tax” were synonymous with slavery; who, in a moment of political delirium, perhaps of intoxication, had instinctively raised his hand against what he deemed an oppressive tax—immured in a dungeon, listening only to the clanking of fetters; snatched from the bosom of his family, to whom no doubt he was a kind parent and an affectionate husband—for be it remembered he was popular and beloved among his neighbors—this man, caught in the trap of judicial and constructive treason, at which common sense revolts, laid by the heels, trembling at the charge, ignorant of the extent of the law, without a friend to comfort and console him, no counsel in his defence; such a man, so situated, is as much entitled to my sympathy as any king that ever wore a crown, and he shall have it; he shall have more, he shall have justice from this honorable Court. Yes, sir, to my shame I confess, that my sympathy is not of this exclusive sort. It is not scared by the homely garb of poverty and wretchedness. It can feel for misfortune, even if it be not sumptuously arrayed.
We are asked to assign any rational motive for the conduct imputed to the respondent. His object might have been to court the Administration which he upheld and supported, to recommend himself to the President of the United States, to obtain the Chief Justiceship. Those who are anxious to attract the notice and favor of the powers that be, are not apt to put their light under a bushel. The fulsomeness of sycophants, who always overact their part, is proverbial. Sir, he might be aspiring to the Presidency itself, and anxious to engage the favor of the leaders of his party. Let it be remembered, the triumph of that day was complete, and the reckoning of this day too remote from probability to be taken into the account. Here, sir, you have a key to his whole conduct. It becomes you, then, Mr. President and gentlemen of the Senate, to determine whether a man whose whole judicial life hath been marked by habitual outrage upon decorum and duty, too inveterate to give the least hope of reformation, interwoven and incorporated with his very nature, shall be arrested in his career, or again let loose upon society, to prey upon the property, liberty, and life of those who will not rally around his political standard. We have performed our duty; we have bound the criminal and dragged him to your altar. The nation expects from you that award which the evidence and the law requires. It remains for you to say whether he shall again become the scourge of an exasperated people, or whether he shall stand as a landmark and a beacon to the present generation, and a warning to the future, that no talents, however great, no age, however venerable, no character, however sacred, no connections, however influential, shall save that man from the justice of his country, who prostitutes the best gifts of nature and of God, and the power with which he is invested for the general good, to the low purposes of an electioneering partisan. We adjure you, on behalf of the House of Representatives and of all the people of the United States, to exorcise from our courts the baleful spirit of party, to give an awful memento to our judges. In the name of the nation, I demand at your hands the award of justice and of law.
Friday, March 1.
The Court being opened by proclamation, the Managers, accompanied by the House of Representatives, attended.
The counsel for the respondent also attended.
The consideration of the motion, made yesterday for an alteration of one of the rules in cases of impeachments, was resumed: Whereupon,
Resolved, That in taking the judgment of the Senate upon the articles of impeachment now depending against Samuel Chase, Esq., the President of the Senate shall call on each member by his name, and upon each article, propose the following question, in the manner following: “Mr. ——, how say you; is the respondent, Samuel Chase, guilty or not guilty of a high crime or misdemeanor, as charged in the —— article of impeachment?”
Whereupon, each member shall rise in his place, and answer guilty or not guilty.