1st, That the sugar-growing colonies of Great Britain stand in need of no protection whatever; and, 2dly, That it is wrong to put any prohibitory duty in the way of the free use and consumption of slave-grown sugar in this country.
The first position is, of course, a matter of statistics, which we shall argue exclusively upon that ground. There are, indeed, certain topics connected with it, bearing less or more upon questions of public faith and general expediency, which we cannot entirely throw aside; but we shall attempt, if possible, to avoid all declamation, and to give a plain and distinct statement of the facts, as they have reached us through various channels. The second position involves questions of a more serious nature. We have, hitherto, believed that if any Briton were deliberately asked the question, what principle or what act of universal philanthropy and benevolence he was most proud of as displaying the Christian character of his country, he would, without hesitation, refer to the struggles and sacrifices which have been made for the abolition of slavery throughout the world, and more especially to the stringent and costly measures adopted by Great Britain for putting down the infamous and most inhuman traffic in human flesh and blood. We say that, hitherto, such has been our belief, and most devoutly do we wish that we had no cause whatever to alter it. But we cannot look at the complexion of the late measures, and at their notorious results, without being convinced that the race for power, and the thirst after mammon, which are daily becoming more and more undisguised in the political movements and revolutionary legislation of this country, are weaning us from our finer and our humaner instincts, destroying our once generous sympathies, and rendering us wilfully blind to our duties to God and man, whenever a temporary interest appears thrown into the opposite scale. Of these two positions let us now address ourselves to the first, not because it is in any degree the more important, but because, very unfairly, it has been made the excuse and the palliation for the other. The two positions, indeed, are so interwoven, as to be in some respects entirely inseparable.
It is hardly necessary here to do more than remind our readers of the great and generous effort made by this country for the abolition of slavery in our colonies. For that purpose the nation agreed, without a murmur, to pay the large sum of twenty millions sterling—a sacrifice to principle and philanthropy which every one must allow to be unparalleled in the annals of the world. At the same time we must not allow our praise or admiration of this act to hurry us into extravagance or exaggeration. The sum of twenty millions so granted was not a boon, but merely compensation to a class of British subjects for the compulsory surrender of a property which the law entitled them to hold. The institution of slavery in the colonies, be it specially remembered, was not the work of the planters, but of the British nation and crown. The lands of Jamaica and other West Indian colonies were originally patented on the special condition that they should be cultivated by slaves, for the promotion of the national wealth; and the policy so originated was continued under the sanction of laws equally sacred with those which relate to any other species of property whatever. Nay, more, it was from Jamaica, and not from the mother country, that the first proposals for a partial suppression or cessation of the slave-trade proceeded. The importations from Africa had become so great, that the people of that colony requested that for some time the trade might be stopped; and their petitions were rejected, on the ground that any such measure would be injurious to the mercantile interests of England. But at last, to use the words of the writer whom we have already quoted—
“The country became aware of the cruelty and injustice of that infamous traffic, and abolished it. Years afterwards, she awoke as from a dream, and began to abuse the planters for possessing slaves; declared they had no right to hold them in bondage (although she sold those slaves to them;) had them valued by commissioners whom she appointed; paid eight shillings in the pound of this valuation, and set them free, without any consideration whatever for the landed property, buildings, and machinery, amounting to much more than the aggregate price of the slaves, which were to be rendered useless and valueless from want of labourers. The appraisement by those commissioners, as directed by the Act, was based on the average sales in each colony for eight years preceding the passing of the bill, which was in 1833. The value of the slave property was thus distinctly ascertained. The land, buildings, and machinery were not taken into consideration, because neither the Parliament nor the people admitted that they were to be placed in jeopardy by the emancipation of the slaves. On the contrary, an opinion prevailed that, with a free population, the planters would be more prosperous than they had ever been.”
Of the inadequacy of this compensation, however large it may appear upon paper, there cannot be a doubt. Enormous sums had been expended in the cultivation of the estates, in the building of works, and the transportation of machinery, all of which were jeopardied, and, as the sequel has proved, most frightfully deteriorated in consequence of the measure. But the public demand that slavery should cease for ever throughout the British dominions was peremptory; and, in pursuance of this laudable desire, the government of the day did not hesitate to adopt a course which will ever be a dangerous precedent; to
“Wrest once the law to their authority:
And for a great right do a little wrong.”
“This frightful experiment,” as it was termed by Lord Stanley, then colonial secretary, was therefore decidedly of the nature of a compulsory bargain, forced by the people of Great Britain, no doubt from most praiseworthy motives, upon the holders of lands and slaves in the colonies. The terms of that bargain ought to have been adhered to by Parliament with the strictest good faith and scrupulosity. They had, on the part of the nation, expended a sum of twenty millions upon an experiment, the success or failure of which involved an amount of property which it would be very difficult to estimate, but certainly not short of two hundred millions sterling. The greater portion of this, be it remarked, was British capital, expended under the sanction and with the full consent of the British Government; and no one can doubt the fact that so large an interest as that was never before put in peril for the sake of any experiment whatever. Still it was made; and we maintain that the voluntary payment of the twenty millions gave the Government or people of this country no shadow of a right to depart from one iota of the bargain which they had forced the colonists to accept. The Act of 1833, which emancipated the slaves, also provided that, for six years more, they should remain in a state of apprenticeship, obviously for the purpose of preventing any violent outbreak, or an entire cessation of that labour which hitherto had been compulsory. The intermediate period, considering the risk which was incurred, was by no means a long one. It was not a boon to the planters, but a distinct condition, from which no consideration whatever should have induced the Government to swerve.
We need not detain our readers with any account of the manner in which emancipation was carried out. It was submitted to by the colonists, not without apprehension, but in the best possible spirit. Every thing was done to facilitate the plans of Government; and on the 1st of August 1834, there was no longer a slave throughout the whole of the British dominions. In closing that eventful session of the Jamaica House of Assembly, the Governor, Lord Mulgrave, used the following terms:—“In conclusion, I must express my firm belief that, in your future difficulties, your ready recognition of the natural rights of your fellow men will meet its best reward in the revived diffusion of national sympathy, and the cheerfully continued extension of British protection.” These are honeyed words—let us now see how the promise has been kept.
Immediately after the Emancipation Act was passed, the produce of the West Indian estates began rapidly to decline, and their value to be correspondingly depreciated. This was the inevitable consequence of the abridgment of the working hours, and of the withdrawal of a great number of labourers altogether from plantation employment. In fact, the want of adequate labour began to be felt most painfully throughout the colonies. Notwithstanding this the planters went on, making every exertion they could, under peculiarly difficult circumstances.