price of blood," money too base for a Jew to put in the
public chest eighteen hundred years ago!
A noble defence was made for Mr Sims by three eminent lawyers, Messrs Charles G. Loring, Robert Rantoul, Jr., and Samuel E. Sewall, all honourable and able men. Their arguments were productions of no common merit. But of what use to plead law in such a "court" of the Fugitive Slave Bill; to appeal to the Constitution, when the statute is designed to thwart justice, and to destroy "the blessings of liberty?" Of what avail to appeal to the natural principles of right before the tool of an administration which denies that there is any law of God higher than the schemes of a politician? It all came to nothing. A reasonable man would think that the human body and soul were "free papers" from the Almighty, sealed with "the image and likeness of God;" but, of course, in a kidnapper's "court," such a certificate is of no value.
You all know the public account of the kidnapping and "trial" of Mr Sims. What is known to me in private, it is not time to tell: I will tell that to your children; no! perhaps your grandchildren.
You know that the arrest was illegal, the officers of Massachusetts being forbidden by statute to help arrest a fugitive slave. Besides, it appears that they had no legal warrant to make the arrest: they lied, and pretended to arrest him for another alleged offence. He was on "trial" nine days,—arraigned before a Slave Act Commissioner,—and never saw the face of a judge or any judicial officer but once. Before he could be removed to slavery, it was necessary that the spirit of the Constitution should be violated; that its letter should be broken; that the laws of Massachusetts should be cloven down; its officers, its courts, and its people, treated with contempt. The Fugitive Slave Bill could only be enforced by the bayonet.
You remember the aspect of Boston, from the fourth of April till the twelfth. You saw the chains about the Courthouse; you saw the police of Boston, bludgeons in their hands, made journeymen kidnappers against their will. Poor fellows! I pitied them. I knew their hearts. Once on a terrible time,—it was just as they were taking Mr Sims from the Court-house, a year ago this day,—somebody reproached them, calling them names fitting their
