These things I dwell upon as incentives and tokens of an existing public sentiment, rendering this Act practically inoperative, except as a tremendous engine of horror. Sir, the sentiment is just. Even in the lands of Slavery, the slave-trader is loathed as an ignoble character, from whom the countenance is turned away; and can the Slave-Hunter be more regarded, while pursuing his prey in a land of Freedom? In early Europe, in barbarous days, while Slavery prevailed, a Hunting Master--_nachjagender Herr_, as the Germans called him--was held in aversion. Nor was this all. The fugitive was welcomed in the cities, and protected against pursuit. Sometimes vengeance awaited the Hunter. Down to this day, at Revel, now a Russian city, a sword is proudly preserved with which a Hunting Baron was beheaded, who, in violation of the municipal rights of the place, seized a fugitive slave. Hostile to this Act as our public sentiment may be, it exhibits no similar trophy. The State laws of Massachusetts have been violated in the seizure of a fugitive slave; but no sword, like that of Revel, now hangs at Boston. I have said, Sir, that this sentiment is just. And is it not? Every escape from Slavery necessarily and instinctively awakens the regard of all who love Freedom. The endeavor, though unsuccessful, reveals courage, manhood, character. No story is read with greater interest than that of our own Lafayette, when, aided by a gallant South Carolinian, in defiance of despotic Austrian ordinances, kindred to our Slave Act, he strove to escape from the bondage of Olmütz. Literature pauses with exultation over the struggles of Cervantes, the great Spaniard, while a slave in Algiers, to regain the liberty for which he declared to his companions "we ought to risk life itself, Slavery being the greatest evil that can fall to the lot of man."[201] Science, in all her manifold triumphs, throbs with pride and delight, that Arago, astronomer and philosopher,--devoted republican also,--was rescued from barbarous Slavery to become one of her greatest sons. Religion rejoices serenely, with joy unspeakable, in the final escape of Vincent de Paul. In the public square of Tunis, exposed to the inspection of traffickers in human flesh, this illustrious Frenchman was subjected to every vileness of treatment, compelled, like a horse, to open his mouth, to show his teeth, to trot, to run, to exhibit his strength in lifting burdens, and then, like a horse, legally sold in market overt. Passing from master to master, after protracted servitude, he achieved his freedom, and, regaining France, commenced that resplendent career of charity by which he is placed among the great names of Christendom. Princes and orators have lavished panegyric upon this fugitive slave, and, in homage to his extraordinary virtues, the Catholic Church has introduced him into the company of Saints. [201] Navarrete, Vida de Cervantes, p. 38.