My Bondage and My Freedom
that there are many evils which can be best removed by confining our
efforts to the immediate locality where such evils exist. This,
however, is by no means the case with the system of slavery. It is such
a giant sin—such a monstrous aggregation of iniquity—so hardening to
the human heart—so destructive to the moral sense, and so well
calculated to beget a character, in every one around it, favorable to
its own continuance,—that I feel not only at liberty, but abundantly
justified, in appealing to the whole world to aid in its removal.
But, even if I had—as has been often charged—labored to bring American
institutions generally into disrepute, and had not confined my labors
strictly within the limits of humanity and morality, I should not have
been without illustrious examples to support me. Driven into semi-exile
by civil and barbarous laws, and by a system which cannot be thought of
without a shudder, I was fully justified in turning, if possible, the
tide of the moral universe against the heaven-daring outrage.
Four circumstances greatly assisted me in getting the question of
American slavery before the British public. First, the mob on board the
“Cambria,” already referred to, which was a sort of national
announcement of my arrival in England. Secondly, the highly
reprehensible course pursued by the Free Church of Scotland, in
soliciting, receiving, and retaining money in its sustentation fund for
supporting the gospel in Scotland, which was evidently the ill-gotten
gain of slaveholders and slave-traders. Third, the great Evangelical
Alliance—or rather the attempt to form such an alliance, which should
include slaveholders of a certain description—added immensely to the
interest felt in the slavery question. About the same time, there was
the World’s Temperance Convention, where I had the misfortune to come
in collision with sundry American doctors of divinity—Dr. Cox among the
number—with whom I had a small controversy.
It has happened to me—as it has happened to most other men engaged in a
good cause—often to be more indebted to my enemies than to my own skill
or to the assistance of my friends, for whatever success has attended
my labors. Great surprise was expressed by American newspapers, north
and south, during my stay in Great Britain, that a person so illiterate
and insignificant as myself could awaken an interest so marked in
England. These papers were not the only parties surprised. I was myself
not far behind them in surprise. But the very contempt and scorn, the
systematic and extravagant disparagement of which I was the object,
served, perhaps, to magnify my few merits, and to render me of some
account, whether deserving or not. A man is sometimes made great, by
the greatness of the abuse a portion of mankind may think proper to
heap upon him. Whether I was of as much consequence as the English
papers made me out to be, or not, it was easily seen, in England, that
I could not be the ignorant and worthless creature, some of the
American papers would have them believe I was. Men, in their senses, do
not take bowie-knives to kill mosquitoes, nor pistols to shoot flies;
and the American passengers who thought proper to get up a mob to
silence me, on board the “Cambria,” took the most effective method of
telling the British public that I had something to say.
But to the second circumstance, namely, the position of the Free Church
of Scotland, with the great Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish
at its head. That church, with its leaders, put it out of the power of
the Scotch people to ask the old question, which we in the north have
often most wickedly asked—“_What have we to do with slavery_?” That
church had taken the price of blood into its treasury, with which to
build _free_ churches, and to pay _free_ church ministers for preaching
the gospel; and, worse still, when honest John Murray, of Bowlien
Bay—now gone to his reward in heaven—with William Smeal, Andrew Paton,
Frederick Card, and other sterling anti-slavery men in Glasgow,
denounced the transaction as disgraceful and shocking to the religious
sentiment of Scotland, this church, through its leading divines,
instead of repenting and seeking to mend the mistake into which it had
fallen, made it a flagrant sin, by undertaking to defend, in the name
of God and the bible, the principle not only of taking the money of
slave-dealers to build churches, but of holding fellowship with the
holders and traffickers in human flesh. This, the reader will see,
brought up the whole question of slavery, and opened the way to its
full discussion, without any agency of mine. I have never seen a people
more deeply moved than were the people of Scotland, on this very
question. Public meeting succeeded public meeting. Speech after speech,
pamphlet after pamphlet, editorial after editorial, sermon after
sermon, soon lashed the conscientious Scotch people into a perfect
_furore_. “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was indignantly cried out, from
Greenock to Edinburgh, and from Edinburgh to Aberdeen. George Thompson,
of London, Henry C. Wright, of the United States, James N. Buffum, of
Lynn, Massachusetts, and myself were on the anti-slavery side; and
Doctors Chalmers, Cunningham, and Candlish on the other. In a conflict
where the latter could have had even the show of right, the truth, in
our hands as against them, must have been driven to the wall; and while
I believe we were able to carry the conscience of the country against
the action of the Free Church, the battle, it must be confessed, was a
hard-fought one. Abler defenders of the doctrine of fellowshiping
slaveholders as christians, have not been met with. In defending this
doctrine, it was necessary to deny that slavery is a sin. If driven
from this position, they were compelled to deny that slaveholders were
responsible for the sin; and if driven from both these positions, they
must deny that it is a sin in such a sense, and that slaveholders are
sinners in such a sense, as to make it wrong, in the circumstances in
which they were placed, to recognize them as Christians. Dr. Cunningham
was the most powerful debater on the slavery side of the question; Mr.
Thompson was the ablest on the anti-slavery side. A scene occurred
between these two men, a parallel to which I think I never witnessed
before, and I know I never have since. The scene was caused by a single
exclamation on the part of Mr. Thompson.
The general assembly of the Free Church was in progress at Cannon
Mills, Edinburgh. The building would hold about twenty-five hundred
persons; and on this occasion it was densely packed, notice having been
given that Doctors Cunningham and Candlish would speak, that day, in
defense of the relations of the Free Church of Scotland to slavery in
America. Messrs. Thompson, Buffum, myself, and a few anti-slavery
friends, attended, but sat at such a distance, and in such a position,
that, perhaps we were not observed from the platform. The excitement
was intense, having been greatly increased by a series of meetings held
by Messrs. Thompson, Wright, Buffum, and myself, in the most splendid
hall in that most beautiful city, just previous to the meetings of the
general assembly. “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” stared at us from every street
corner; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” in large capitals, adorned the broad
flags of the pavement; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was the chorus of the
popular street songs; “SEND BACK THE MONEY!” was the heading of leading
editorials in the daily newspapers. This day, at Cannon Mills, the
great doctors of the church were to give an answer to this loud and
stern demand. Men of all parties and all sects were most eager to hear.
Something great was expected. The occasion was great, the men great,
and great speeches were expected from them.
In addition to the outside pressure upon Doctors Cunningham and
Candlish, there was wavering in their own ranks. The conscience of the
church itself was not at ease. A dissatisfaction with the position of
the church touching slavery, was sensibly manifest among the members,
and something must be done to counteract this untoward influence. The
great Dr. Chalmers was in feeble health, at the time. His most potent
eloquence could not now be summoned to Cannon Mills, as formerly. He
whose voice was able to rend asunder and dash down the granite walls of
the established church of Scotland, and to lead a host in solemn
procession from it, as from a doomed city, was now old and enfeebled.
Besides, he had said his word on this very question; and his word had
not silenced the clamor without, nor stilled the anxious heavings
within. The occasion was momentous, and felt to be so. The church was
in a perilous condition. A change of some sort must take place in her
condition, or she must go to pieces. To stand where she did, was
impossible. The whole weight of the matter fell on Cunningham and
Candlish. No shoulders in the church were broader than theirs; and I
must say, badly as I detest the principles laid down and defended by
them, I was compelled to acknowledge the vast mental endowments of the
men. Cunningham rose; and his rising was the signal for almost
tumultous applause. You will say this was scarcely in keeping with the
solemnity of the occasion, but to me it served to increase its grandeur
and gravity. The applause, though tumultuous, was not joyous. It seemed
to me, as it thundered up from the vast audience, like the fall of an
immense shaft, flung from shoulders already galled by its crushing
weight. It was like saying, “Doctor, we have borne this burden long
enough, and willingly fling it upon you. Since it was you who brought
it upon us, take it now, and do what you will with it, for we are too
weary to bear it. [“no close”].
Doctor Cunningham proceeded with his speech, abounding in logic,
learning, and eloquence, and apparently bearing down all opposition;
but at the moment—the fatal moment—when he was just bringing all his
arguments to a point, and that point being, that neither Jesus Christ
nor his holy apostles regarded slaveholding as a sin, George Thompson,
in a clear, sonorous, but rebuking voice, broke the deep stillness of
the audience, exclaiming, HEAR! HEAR! HEAR! The effect of this simple
and common exclamation is almost incredible. It was as if a granite
wall had been suddenly flung up against the advancing current of a
mighty river. For a moment, speaker and audience were brought to a dead
silence. Both the doctor and his hearers seemed appalled by the
audacity, as well as the fitness of the rebuke. At length a shout went
up to the cry of “_Put him out_!” Happily, no one attempted to execute
this cowardly order, and the doctor proceeded with his discourse. Not,
however, as before, did the learned doctor proceed. The exclamation of
Thompson must have reechoed itself a thousand times in his memory,
during the remainder of his speech, for the doctor never recovered from
the blow.
The deed was done, however; the pillars of the church—_the proud, Free
Church of Scotland_—were committed and the humility of repentance was
absent. The Free Church held on to the blood-stained money, and
continued to justify itself in its position—and of course to apologize
for slavery—and does so till this day. She lost a glorious opportunity
for giving her voice, her vote, and her example to the cause of
humanity; and to-day she is staggering under the curse of the enslaved,
whose blood is in her skirts. The people of Scotland are, to this day,
deeply grieved at the course pursued by the Free Church, and would
hail, as a relief from a deep and blighting shame, the “sending back
the money” to the slaveholders from whom it was gathered.
One good result followed the conduct of the Free Church; it furnished