The Quality of Mercy

25



It was a mark of Ashton’s resilience that not many hours after his fury of disappointment at the piracy verdict, and still suffering from it, he set himself to considering the next battle to fight. The cause of abolition, which had rescued him from a prevailing sense of futility and made him profoundly grateful to Divine Providence for such redemption, had at the same time brought him to a fuller knowledge of himself, his capacity for devotion, his readiness to spend everything he had, all his resources, health and strength included, in the fight against a traffic in human souls offensive to God and man alike.

The summons for theft and damages in the case of Jeremy Evans which Bolton and Lyons had threatened to bring against him had not so far been pursued. The two had repeatedly postponed the application for a hearing on the grounds that they were still preparing their case. It came to Ashton now that this delay could mean only one thing: they were afraid to proceed because they could not be certain of winning. He had announced countercharges of aggravated assault against all concerned in Evans’s commitment to the Poultry Compter, those who had ordered it, those who had carried it out, the notary who had signed the order for custody, if there was one, the keeper of the prison, who had incarcerated the man unlawfully.

This it was that had frightened them, he now began to feel sure of it. Their position, their claim to right of ownership in Evans, had been seriously weakened by the Lord Mayor’s ruling that Evans could go free, that he could not be detained in prison without just cause. The claim of right by purchase, the production of the bill of sale, had not been accounted just cause.

On his knees, in the loneliness of his bedchamber, he prayed for guidance. And in the spaces between the words and the silence that came after them, God spoke to him and gave him counsel: he was to take the initiative; he was not to wait on the flickering intentions of Messrs. Bolton and Lyons; he was to become the plaintiff and press the charge of abduction, not in regard to the taking of the man by force and holding him in prison, but in regard to the earlier attempt to deny his rig ht of residence in England and transport him to the West Indies. Abduction, not criminal assault, as he had originally intended.

Next morning, in the full flush of resolution, he went to see Stanton at his chambers in Chancery Lane. He announced his new intention and asked for the services of his friend in the conducting of the case.

“We will drop all charges against the agents of the business—slave-takers, corrupt prison officers, whoever they may be,” he said. “We will charge only the instigators, the two men who lay claim to ownership of Evans by purchase and contend that they have the right, by the fact of purchase, to remove him by force from England and return him to the West Indies. We will charge them with kidnap.”

However, he saw no answering enthusiasm on the other’s face but instead an expression of increased gravity. “Frederick, I think it unlikely in the extreme that we could win such a case, in view of the prejudice that exists. Mounting a defense against the claim of damages they were to bring against us, that is a different matter, it raises no fundamental issues.”

“But that is precisely why I want to bring the case, because it does raise fundamental issues. If it went in our favor, we might at long last get a ruling that brings into serious question the status of former slaves now domiciled in England.”

“The Lord Chief Justice would almost certainly refer the case to the Court of King’s Bench. He would preside over it himself. He has always avoided making any pronouncement from the bench that would go counter to the West India Interest. He has demonstrated this again and again. It would be the same again now. And if we fail, think what harm there would be to the cause of abolition. It would entrench the right of continuous ownership, perpetual ownership from the point of purchase, irrespective of national boundaries.”

Ashton looked at his friend in silence for some moments. The same prudence he had always valued, the same weighing of words. Yet now it was almost as if he were looking at a stranger. “So, then,” he said, “we rescue the man from the ship that was returning him to plantation slavery, we secure his release from the prison where he was unlawfully held, we find a house where he can be safe while the action for damages is pending. And having done all this, we draw back from questioning the fundamental issue of his right to residence on English soil. Horace, we must take risks, we cannot wait till we are certain of the outcome, or we will never achieve anything. We did not get the verdict we hoped for in this piracy trial, but all was not lost, your eloquence was not wasted. The case attracted great public interest and there will now be many, as a result of it, who reexamine their consciences on the issue of slavery.”

“It was a specific issue,” Stanton said. “It is true that we brought the nature of property in Africans into question by disputing the notion of robbery under such circumstances, but the circumstances themselves were very particular. We had a prospect of success on grounds of mitigating circumstance, but our main chance lay in the fact that no one’s pocket was threatened. It is far otherwise with the case you want to bring now. Think of the capital value of the Africans who have been brought here as slaves with the intention of returning them sooner or later to the plantations. You will be familiar with the words of Yorke and Talbot in 1729, when a deputation appealed to them for a clarification of the status of African slaves in England. The two highest law officers of the realm, Attorney General and Solicitor General. They gave it as their considered opinion that a slave by coming from the West Indies to England does not thereby become free, and that his master may legally compel him to return to the plantations.”

“Yes, I know what they said. It has been a slave-hunters’ charter ever since. It was never more than an opinion, probably delivered after a good dinner, but it has been elevated to a judgment of high authority, and no one dares to question it.” As you do not dare, he thought, with a sense of desolation.

“Something more than an opinion,” Stanton said. “It was reaffirmed by Yorke, as Lord Chancellor Hardwicke, in 1749, from the judicial bench in the case of Pearne versus Lisle. That is not so long ago, Frederick.”

“So you are unwilling to take the case?”

“I am afraid so, yes. For both our sakes.”

“No, Horace, it is not for my sake you are refusing.”

He stopped here, but the implication was obvious, and both men felt it as a rent that would take long to mend in the fabric of close cooperation and trust that had stood the wear of so many years.

“You are determined to go on with the case, then?” Stanton said.

“Certainly.”

“I know of a young barrister in these chambers, a very promising man, who sees eye to eye with us on matters of principle. His name is Harvey. I will speak to him if you like.” It was now that Stanton indirectly confirmed the judgment of his motives that Ashton had formed. “He has his way to make,” he said. “Appearing in court, making a stir, is more important than winning cases at that stage of a man’s career. He will fight hard, even in a losing cause.”

Ashton accepted the offer, and the two parted, without great warmth. Once more at home, Ashton lunched with his sister and lost no time in telling her of Stanton’s refusal.

“Well, I am not so very surprised to hear it,” she said. “He always struck me as being more cautious than was good for him, or good for anyone.”

Brother and sister had returned to more cordial terms now. Jane had sympathized with her brother in his distress at the piracy verdict, and had come again to understand—it formed part of a regular cycle in their relations—the spirit of dedication that made him what he was, and the sharply declining order of importance he gave to the sensibilities of others, and even their welfare, when they were not instrumental to his cause.

“He tried to make amends by offering to find a barrister to take the case,” Ashton said. “He thought it was unwise to bring the action in any case, as being virtually certain to fail. I think he was mainly guided by a reluctance to challenge the Yorke and Talbot opinion that slaves remain slaves on English soil. And he was afraid that the Lord Chief Justice would be too much in sympathy with the West India faction. But I think that his chief fear was of attacking vested interests and thus doing damage to his own career.”

Jane felt some sympathy for this, though she did not give expression to it. After all, Horace Stanton’s income came entirely from his fees—he had no independent means, unlike her brother in this. But it was not an aspect of the matter that Frederick would think of the least importance, even if it had occurred to him, which she thought doubtful.

“I told him that without challenging these beliefs, we would never find out how rooted they really are,” he said.

“Indeed not.” Like testing the water, she thought. You can’t tell just by looking at it. Horace Stanton would always hesitate too long before even putting one of his toes in. Not like Erasmus. She thought of him as he had been in the court, that epic tale of pursuit and capture, the spirit of justice and the desire for revenge confused together. Mixed motives, even if this was not fully confessed. But Erasmus was a man of action—he would never hesitate, never hold back. Suddenly, and with a vividness that caught at her breathing, she pictured him standing at the brink, braced for the plunge.