But we must say a few words in conclusion. Mr. Sumner swears to support the Constitution as he understands it; but how is it supported by him? Is it supported by him at all or in any way? Let us see. The clause respecting "persons held to service or labor," says he, imposes an obligation, not upon "the National Government, but upon the States." Is he then in favor of the States passing any law, or doing any act, by which fugitive slaves may be delivered up? "Never," he replies. Massachusetts will never do any such thing by his advice or consent. Surely, then, he will speak a kind word to the good people of Massachusetts, and advise them to do nothing in violation of this solemn compact of the Constitution. If he will do nothing to support the compact, surely he will do nothing to break it down. He will not permit us to indulge any such charitable hope. For it is his avowed object, by speech-making and by agitation, to create such a "public opinion" as "shall blast with contempt, indignation, and abhorrence, all who, in whatever form, or under whatever name, undertake to be agents"[218] in reclaiming fugitive slaves. Yea, upon the very officers of the law themselves, who, for this purpose, act under and by authority of the supreme laws of the land, he pours down scorn and derision. Even these, though in the discharge of an official duty, are—if it be in the power of Mr. Sumner—to be blasted with abhorrence, indignation, and contempt!
The Constitution declares that the fugitive slave "shall be delivered up." He shall not "be delivered up," says Mr. Sumner; and, in order to make his words good, he means to create a "public opinion," which no Southern master dare encounter. Nay, he rejoices to believe that such public opinion is, in some localities, already created and prepared for open resistance to the Constitution of the United States. "There are many," says he, "who will never shrink at any cost, and, notwithstanding all the atrocious penalties of this bill, from efforts to save a wandering fellow-man from bondage. They will offer him the shelter of their houses, and, if need be, will protect his liberty by force."[219] Horrible words! Words tending directly to a conflict in which the brightest hopes of humanity must perish, and the glory of the Republic be extinguished in oceans of blood.
In the face of such things, we are imperiously constrained to doubt Mr. Sumner's regard for the obligation of the oath which binds him to support the Constitution of his country. It is certain that he can rejoice in the breach of this obligation by others. A certain judge in Vermont, who, like every other State officer, had taken an oath to support the Constitution of the United States, just set Constitution, laws, evidence, all at defiance, and boldly declared that the fugitive should not be delivered up, "unless the master could show a bill of sale from the Almighty." This deed, which, in the language of Chancellor Walworth, is stamped with "the moral guilt of perjury," appears heroic to Mr. Sumner, by whom it is related with evident delight. It would seem, indeed, as if the moral sensibility of an abolitionist of his stamp is all drawn to a single point of his conscience, so that it can feel absolutely nothing except slavery. It seems dead to the obligation of an oath, to the moral guilt of perjury. Nay, it seems to rejoice in the very bravery of its perpetration, provided it only enables a fugitive slave to effect his escape.
Perhaps Mr. Sumner would seek to justify himself by declaring that the language fugitive from services does not include fugitive slaves. If so, we reply that the Vermont judge, whose infamous decision he approves, had no such fine pretext. It is Mr. Sumner, as we have seen, who first suggested this most excellent method of reconciling conscience with treachery to the Constitution. Though he professes the most profound respect for that instrument, he deliberately sets to work to undermine one of its most clear and unequivocal mandates. He does not, like Mr. Seward, openly smite the Constitution with his hand, or contemptuously kick it with his foot. He betrays it with a kiss.
Mr. Sumner admires the conduct of the Vermont judge; but he can heap the most frantic abuse on the acts of the best men America has produced. Though they be the deliberate public acts of a Clay, or a Calhoun, or a Webster, or a George Washington, his language is not the less violent, nor his raving vituperation the less malignant. In regard to the Fugitive Slave Law of 1850, he says: "And still further, as if to do a deed which should 'make heaven weep, all earth amazed,' this same Congress, in disregard of all the cherished safeguards of freedom, has passed a most cruel, unchristian, devilish act." The great difficulty under which Mr. Sumner labors, and which all the energy of his soul struggles to surmount, is to find language violent enough in which to denounce this "foul enactment," this "detestable and heaven-defying bill," this "monster act," which "sets at naught the best principles of the Constitution and the very laws of God!"
Now, this bill, let it be remembered, is liable to no objection which may not be urged against the Fugitive Slave Law of 1793. It will not be denied, indeed, that if the one of these laws be unconstitutional so also is the other, and that both must stand or fall together. Let it also be borne in mind that, as the one received the support of a Clay, and a Calhoun, and a Webster, so the other received the sanction and the signature of George Washington. Yet, in the face of these facts, Mr. Sumner does not moderate his rage. They only seem to increase the intensity and the fury of his wrath. "The soul sickens," he cries, "in the contemplation of this legalized outrage. In the dreary annals of the past there are many acts of shame—there are many ordinances of monarchs, and laws which have become a byword and a hissing to the nations. But when we consider the country and the age, I ask fearlessly, what act of shame, what ordinance of monarch, what law, can compare in atrocity with this enactment of an American Congress?"
Not content with pouring floods of abuse on the law itself, Mr. Sumner proceeds to consign to infamy its authors and all who have given it their support. For, after furnishing examples of what he deems among the most atrocious transactions of the past, he adds: "I would not exaggerate. I wish to keep within bounds; but I think no person can doubt that the condemnation affixed to all these transactions and to their authors must be the lot hereafter of the Fugitive Slave Bill, and of every one, according to the measure of his influence, who gave it his support. Into the immortal catalogue of national crimes this law has now passed, drawing with it, by an inexorable necessity, its authors also, and chiefly him who, as President of the United States, set his name to the bill, and breathed into it that final breath without which it would have no life. Other Presidents may be forgotten, but the name signed to the Fugitive Slave Bill can never be forgotten. There are depths of infamy, as there are hights of fame. I regret to say what I must, but truth compels me. Better far for him had he never been born; better for his memory, and for the name of his children, had he never been President!"
If neither Mr. Fillmore nor George Washington swore to support the Constitution as Mr. Sumner understands it, we beg him to consider that his opinion was not known when they took the oath of office. Mr. Fillmore had, at that time, no better guide to go by than the decisions of the most enlightened judicial tribunals of his country, with the Supreme Court of the United States at their head. He was not so far raised above other men, nor possessed of so wonderful an insight into the Constitution, as Mr. Sumner; for he could understand it no better than its framers. Hence he was, no doubt, so conscious of his own fallibility that he could hardly look upon modesty as a crime, or upon a deference to the judicial tribunals of his country as infamous. We trust, therefore, that his good name will survive, and that his children will not blush to own it. It is certain that the American people will never believe, on the bare authority of Mr. Sumner, that, in his course regarding the Fugitive Slave Law, he planted his feet in the very "depths of infamy," when they can so clearly see that he merely trod in the footsteps of George Washington.
If what a man lacks in reason he could only make up in rage, then, after all, it would have to be concluded that Mr. Sumner is a very respectable Senator; for, surely, the violence of his denunciations is almost as remarkable as the weakness of his logic. Fortunately, however, it can hurt no one except himself or those whom he represents. Certainly, the brightest names in the galaxy of American statesmen are not to be swept away by the filthy torrent of his invectives. The Clays, the Calhouns, the Websters, and the Washingtons of America, are, indeed, as far above the impotent rage of this Senator as the very stars of heaven are beyond his arm.[220]
