Page:Duties of Massachusetts at this crisis. A speech (IA dutiesmasscrisis00sumnrich).pdf/4

 ical duties here in Massachusetts at the present time? and secondly, how, and by what agency shall this be performed? What, and how? These are the two questions of which I shall briefly speak, in their order, attempting no elaborate discussion, but simply aiming to state the case so that it may be intelligible to all who hear me.

I. And first, what are our duties here in Massachusetts, at the present time? In unfolding these I need not dwell on the wrong and shame of Slavery, or on the character of the Slave Power—that Oligarchy of slaveholders—which now rules the republic. These you understand. Any yet there are two outrages fresh in your recollection, which I must not fail to expose, as natural manifestations of Slavery and the Slave Power. One is the repeal of the prohibition of slavery in the vast Missouri Territory, now known as Kansas and Nebraska, contrary to time-honored compact and plighted faith. The other is the seizure of Anthony Burns, on the free soil of Massachusetts, and his surrender, without judge or jury, to a Slave Hunter from Virginia, to be thrust back into perpetual slavery. [Shame! shame!] These outrages cry aloud to Heaven, and to the people of Massachusetts. [Sensation.] Their intrinsic wickedness is enhanced by the way in which they were accomplished. Of the first, I know something from personal observation; of the latter, I am informed only by public report.

It is characteristic of the Slave Power never to stick at any means supposed to be needful in carrying forward its plans; but never, on any occasion, were its assumptions so barefaced and tyrannical as in the passage of the Nebraska Bill.

This bill was precipitated upon Congress without one word of public recommendation from the President, without notice or discussion in any newspaper, and without a single petition from the people. It was urged by different advocates, on two principal arguments, so opposite and inconsistent, as to slap each other in the face. [Laughter.] One being that, by the repeal of the prohibition, the territory would be absolutely open to the entry of slaveholders with their slaves; and the other being that the people there would be left to determine whether slaveholders should enter with their slaves. With some, the apology was the alleged rights of slaveholders; with others, to was the alleged rights of the people. With some, it was openly the extension of slavery; and with others, openly the establishment of freedom, under the guise of “popular sovereignty.” Of course the measure, thus upheld in defiance of reason, was carried through Congress, in defiance of all the securities of legislation.

It was carried, first, by whipping in to its support, through executive influence and patronage, men who acted against their own declared judgement, and the known will of their constituents; secondly, by foisting out of place, both in the Senate and House of Representatives, important business, long pending, and usurping its room; thirdly, by trampling under foot the rules of the House of Representatives, always before the safeguard of the minority; and fourthly, by driving it to a close during the present Congress, so that it might not be arrested by the indignant voice of the people. Such are some of the means by which the Nebraska Bill was carried. If the clear will of the people had not been disregarded, it could not have passed. If the Government had not nefariously interposed its influence, it could not have passed. If it had been left to its natural place in order of business, it could not have passed. If the rules of the House and the rights of the minority had not been violated, it could not have passed. If it had been allowed to go over to another Congress, when the people might be heard, it would have been ended—all ended.

Contemporaneously with the final triumph of this outrage—on the very night of the passage of the Nebraska Bill at Washington—another scene, beginning a dismal tragedy, was enacted in Boston. In those streets where he had walked a Freeman, Anthony Burns was seized as a Slave—under the base pretext that he was a criminal—imprisoned in the court house, which was turned for the time into a fortress and barracoon—guarded by heartless hirelings, whose chief idea of liberty was the license to do wrong—[loud applause and cries of “that’s it” “that’s it!” &c.]—escorted by intrusive soldiers of the United States—watched by a prostituted militia—and finally given up to a Slave Hunter bu the degree of a petty magistrate, who did not hesitate to take upon his soul the awful responsibility of dooming a fellow-man, in whom he could find no fault, to a fate worse than death. How all this was accomplished, I need not minutely relate. Suffice it to say, that in doing this deed of woe and shame, the liberties of all our citizens, white as well as black, were put in jeopardy—the