Speech of John Hossack, Convicted of a Violation of the Fugitive Slave Law Before Judge Drummond, Of The United States District Court, Chicago, Ill. — Story, Setting & Ideas

A Defendant Who Refuses Mercy

Hossack’s speech subverts the expected courtroom dynamic. After the jury convicts him and recommends mercy, he declares: “I am guilty of no crime, I therefore ask for no mercy. No, Sir, I ask for no mercy; I ask for justice.” This rejection of mercy is not bravado but a logical extension of his argument: if the law is unjust, he cannot be guilty. He distinguishes between “mercy” (for the guilty) and “justice” (for the innocent), positioning himself as the latter. The speech thus becomes a performance of moral certainty, not a plea for leniency. Hossack’s tone remains respectful but unyielding, as when he tells the court he may fail in “the usual forms” but that this stems from “error of the head, and not of the heart.”

Biblical Law vs. Federal Statute

Hossack grounds his defense in scripture, calling the Bible “the oldest law-book in existence” and “better authority than Blackstone.” He quotes two passages: Exodus 21:16 (“He that stealeth a man and selleth him … shall surely be put to death”) and Deuteronomy 23:15–16, which forbids returning an escaped slave to their master. These citations are not ornamental; they form the core of his argument that the Fugitive Slave Law is void because it contradicts divine law. He compares the law to “the law of Egypt to slaughter Hebrew children” and laws forbidding Christ’s apostles to preach. This rhetorical strategy elevates his case from a local crime to a cosmic conflict between human legislation and God’s commands.

The Fugitive’s Cry as a Call to Action

Hossack describes his duty as reactive, not proactive: “I go not to Missouri to relieve oppressed humanity, for my duty has called me nearer home.” He only acts when “a poor, oppressed, panting fugitive” arrives at his door and he hears “his bitter cry.” This framing limits his responsibility to a specific, personal encounter, making his action seem inevitable rather than political. He invokes the Golden Rule—“do to other men as I would have other men do to me”—as a simple, universal principle that overrides any statute. The speech’s emotional climax comes when he asks, “Can it be that I live in a land boasting of freedom, of morality, of Christianity?”—a question that indicts the nation, not just the court.

Readers should note that the excerpts contain only Hossack’s speech, not the court’s response or any narrative framing beyond the prefatory note. The speech’s power lies in its direct address and its refusal to separate religious conviction from civic duty. It is not a legal argument but a moral testimony, and its effectiveness depends on the reader’s willingness to engage with its biblical premises. The catalog subject “Slavery -- United States” accurately describes the topic, but the work itself is a primary source on resistance to the Fugitive Slave Law, not a general history.

Reading John Hossack’s stubborn, quiet defiance—his refusal to bend before a law he found unjust—I found myself recalling a very different courtroom, years later, where the same tension hummed beneath the surface. That old argument about higher duties versus written statutes echoes strangely in the Children's Internet Protection Act (CIPA) Ruling — Reading Companion, a reminder that some questions never truly close, they just change their clothes.