Part 2

There was liberty-loving Holland, which, under that illustrious character, William of Orange, predecessor and exemplar of our Washington, rose against the dominion of Spain, upheld by the bigotry of Philip the Second, and the barbarity of his representative, Alva; but the conflict, though at first limited to the two parties, was not slow to engage Queen Elizabeth, who lent to this war of independence the name of her favorite Leicester and the undying heroism of Sidney, while Spain retorted by the Armada. The United Provinces of Holland, in their struggle for independence, were the prototype of the United States of America, which I need not remind you drew into their contest the arms of France, Spain, and Holland. In the rising of the Spanish colonies there was less interposition of other nations, doubtless from the distant and outlying position they occupied, although not beyond the ambitious reach of the Holy Alliance, whose purposes were so far thwarted by Mr. Canning, backed by the declaration of President Monroe, known as the Monroe doctrine, that the British statesman felt authorized to boast that he had called a new world into existence to redress the balance of the old. Then came the struggle of Greece, which, after painful years darkened by massacre, but relieved by exalted self-sacrifice, shining with names, like Byron and Bozzaris, that cannot die, challenged the powerful interposition of England, France, and Russia. The independence of Greece was hardly acknowledged, when Belgium, renouncing the rule of the Netherlands, claimed hers also, and here again the great powers of Europe were drawn into the contest. Then came the effort of Hungary, inspired by Kossuth, which, when about to prevail, aroused the armies of Russia. There was also the contemporaneous effort of the Roman Republic, under Mazzini, which, almost successful, evoked the bayonets of France. We have only recently witnessed the resurrection of Italy, inspired by Garibaldi, and directed by Cavour; but it was not accomplished, until Louis Napoleon, with well-trained legions, bore the imperial eagles into battle.

Such are famous instances, being so many warnings. Ponder them, and you will see the tendency, the temptation, the irresistible fascination, or the commanding exigency under which foreign nations have been led to participate in conflicts for independence. I do not dwell on the character of these interventions, although mostly in the interest of Human Freedom. It is only as examples to put us on our guard that I adduce them. The footprints all lead one way.

Even our war is not without its warning. If thus far in its progress other nations have failed to intervene, they have not succeeded in keeping entirely aloof. The foreign trumpet has not sounded yet, but more than once the cry has come that we should soon hear it, while incidents too often occur, exhibiting abnormal watchfulness of our affairs and uncontrollable passion or purpose to intermeddle in them, with signs of unfriendly feeling. This is applicable especially, if not exclusively, to England and France.

And at the outset, as I am about to speak frankly, I quote the words of an eminent English statesman and orator, who felt it his duty to criticize Spain. From his place in the House of Commons, whence his words flew over Europe, Mr. Canning, Minister of Foreign Affairs, said:--

“If, in what I have now further to say, I should bear hard upon the Spanish Government, I beg that it may be observed, that, unjustifiable as I shall show their conduct to have been--contrary to the Law of Nations, contrary to the law of good neighborhood, contrary, I might say, to the laws of God and man--with respect to Portugal, still I do not mean to preclude a _locus pœnitentiæ_, a possibility of redress and reparation.”[2]

Fellow-citizens, you shall decide, on hearing the story, if we also have not complaints; but I, too, hope that all will end well.

* * * * *

(1.) One act of the British Cabinet stands foremost as an omen of peril,--foremost in time, foremost also in the magnitude of its consequences. Though plausible in form, it is none the less injurious or unjustifiable. I refer to that inconsiderate Proclamation, in the name of the Queen, as early as 13th May, 1861, which, after raising Rebel Slavemongers to equality with the National Government, solemnly declares “neutrality” between the two coëqual parties: as if the recognition of equality was not an insult to the National Government, and the declaration of neutrality was not a moral absurdity, offensive to reason and all those precedents which make the glory of the British name. Neutrality is equality; neutrality is equity. It is both. But is there just equality between these two parties? Can neutrality between such parties, especially at the very outset, be regarded as equity? Even if the Proclamation could be otherwise than improper at any time in such a rebellion, it was worse than a blunder at that early date. The apparent relations between the two powers were more than friendly. Only a few months had passed since the youthful heir to the British throne was welcomed everywhere, except in Richmond, as in the land of kinsmen. And yet, at once, after tidings of the Rebel assault on Fort Sumter, before the National Government had begun to put forth its strength, and even without waiting for the arrival of our newly appointed minister, who was known to be at Liverpool, on his way to London, the Proclamation was suddenly launched. I doubt if any well-informed person, who reads Mr. Dallas’s despatch of 2d May, 1861, recounting a conversation with the British Secretary, will undertake to vindicate it in point of time. “I informed him,” the minister reports, “that Mr. Adams had apprised me of his intention to be on his way hither in the steamship Niagara, which left Boston on the 1st May, and that he would probably arrive in less than two weeks, by the 12th or 15th instant. His Lordship acquiesced in the expediency of disregarding mere rumor, _and waiting the full knowledge to be brought by my successor_.”[3] And yet the blow was struck without waiting. The alacrity of this concession was unhappy, for it bore an air of defiance, or at least of heartlessness, towards an ally of kindred blood engaged in the maintenance of its traditional power against an infamous pretension. More unhappy still was it that the good genius of England did not save this historic nation, linked with so many triumphs of Freedom, from a fatal step, which, under the guise of “neutrality,” was a betrayal of Civilization itself.

It is difficult to exaggerate the consequences of this precipitate, unfriendly, and immoral concession, which has been, and still is, an overflowing fountain of mischief and bloodshed,--“_hoc fonte derivata clades_,”--_first_, in what it vouchsafes to Rebel Slavemongers on sea and in British ports, and, _secondly_, in the removal of impediments from British subjects ready to make money out of Slavery,--all of which has been declared by undoubted British authority. Lord Chelmsford, of professional renown as Sir Frederick Thesiger, now an ex-Chancellor, used these words recently in the House of Lords: “If the Southern Confederacy had not been recognized by us as _a belligerent power_, he agreed with his noble and learned friend [Lord BROUGHAM], that any Englishman aiding them by fitting out a privateer against the Federal Government _would be guilty of piracy_.”[4] But this is changed by the Queen’s Proclamation. For Rebel Slavery there is recognition; for the British subject opportunity of trade. For Rebel Slavery there is fellowship and equality; for the British subject a new customer, to whom he may lawfully sell Armstrong guns, and other warlike munitions of choicest British workmanship, and, as Lord Palmerston tells us, even ships of war, to be used in behalf of Slavery.[5] What was unlawful is suddenly made lawful, while the ban is taken from an odious felony. It seems superfluous to add, that such concession, thus potent in reach, must have been a direct encouragement and overture to the Rebellion. Slavery itself was exalted, when barbarous pretenders, battling to found a new power in its hateful name, without so much as a single port on the ocean where a prize could be carried for condemnation, were yet, _in face of this essential deficiency_, swiftly acknowledged as _ocean_ belligerents, while, as consequence, their pirate ships, cruising for plunder in behalf of Slavery, were acknowledged as national ships, entitled to equal immunities with the national ships of the United States. This simple statement is enough. It is vain to say that the concession was a “necessity.” There may have been strong temptation to it, constituting, perhaps, imagined necessity, as with many there is strong temptation to Slavery itself. But such concession to Rebels fighting for Slavery can be vindicated only as Slavery is vindicated. As well declare “neutrality” between Right and Wrong, between Good and Evil, with concession to Evil of belligerent rights, and then set up the apology of “necessity.”

If he is an enemy who does what pleases an enemy, according to the rule borrowed by Grotius from the Christian lawyer of the age of Justinian,[6] then did England become the enemy of the National Union, for this most fruitful concession rejoiced beyond measure the Rebel enemy.

(2.) An act so essentially unfriendly in character, and also in the alacrity with which it was done, too clearly indicated an unfriendly sentiment, easily stimulated to menace of war. And this menace was not wanting, when, soon afterwards, the two Rebel emissaries on board the Trent were seized by a patriotic, brave commander, whose highest fault was, that, in the absence of instructions from his own Government, he followed British precedents only too closely. This accident--for such it was, and nothing else--assumed at once overshadowing proportions. With indefensible exaggeration, it was changed by the British nation, backed by the British Government, into a _casus belli_,--as if an unauthorized incident, obviously involving no question of self-defence, could justify war between two civilized nations. And yet, in the face of positive declaration from the United States, communicated by our minister at London, that it was an accident, the British Government _made preparations to take part with Rebel Slavery_, and fitly began such an ignoble proceeding by keeping back from the British people the official despatch of 30th November, 1861, where our Government, after announcing that Captain Wilkes had acted “without any instructions,” expresses a “trust that the British Government would consider the subject in a friendly temper,” and promises “the best disposition” on our part.[7] It is painful to recall this exhibition. But it belongs to history, and we cannot forget the lesson it teaches.

(3.) This tendency to espouse the side of Slavery appears in small things as well as great, becoming more marked in proportion to the inconsistency involved. Thus, where two British subjects, “suspected” of participation in the Rebellion, were detained in a military prison without the benefit of _Habeas Corpus_, the British minister at Washington was directed to complain of their detention _as inconsistent with the Constitution of the United States_, of which this intermeddling power assumed to be “expounder”; and the case was accordingly presented on this ground.[8] But the British Cabinet, with instinct to mix in our war, if only by diplomatic notes, seemed to have forgotten the British Constitution, under which, in 1848, with consent of all the party leaders, Brougham and Lansdowne, Peel and Disraeli, _Habeas Corpus_ was suspended in Ireland, and the Government authorized to apprehend and detain “such persons as they shall suspect.” The bill sanctioning this exercise of power went through all its stages in the House of Commons on one day, and the next day went through all its stages in the House of Lords without a dissenting vote. It is hard to believe that Lord Russell, who complains of our detention of “suspected” persons as inconsistent with the Constitution of the United States, was the minister who introduced this bill, and on that occasion used these words: “I believe in my conscience that this measure is calculated to prevent insurrection, to preserve internal peace, _to preserve the unity of this empire_, and to secure the throne of these realms and the free institutions of this country.”[9]

(4.) The complaint about _Habeas Corpus_ was hardly answered, when another was solemnly presented, founded on the legitimate effort to complete the blockade of Charleston, by sinking at the mouth of its harbor ships laden with stone, usually known as “the stone blockade.” Did anybody find fault with the Russians for sinking their men-of-war in the harbor of Sebastopol? Nor is the allegation of permanent damage to the harbor tenable in the present advanced state of engineering science. A London journal, not inferior to any other in character and ability, has recently recognized the normal character of such a proceeding by mentioning it as a possible defence for Calcutta against naval force, saying: “The ascent of the river without pilots is impossible; for the Government can alter all the channels in a night by _merely sinking a couple of loaded schooners_.”[10] In common times her Majesty’s Government would shrink from such intermeddling. It could not forget that history, early and late, and especially English history, abounds in similar incidents: that, as long ago as 1436, at the siege of Calais by the Duke of Burgundy, and also in 1628, at the memorable siege of Rochelle by Cardinal Richelieu, ships laden with stone were sunk in the harbor; that, during the war of the Revolution, in 1779, six vessels were sunk by the British commander in the Savannah River, not far from this very Charleston, as a protection against the approach of the French naval forces; that, in 1804, under direction of the British Admiralty, there was an attempt, notorious from contemporary jest,[11] to choke the entrance into the harbor of Boulogne by sinking stone vessels; and that, in 1809, the same blockade of another port was recommended to the Admiralty by no less a person than Lord Dundonald, saying: “Ships filled with stones would ruin forever the anchorage of Aix, and some old vessels of the line well loaded would be excellent for the purpose.”[12] This complaint by the British Cabinet becomes doubly strange, when it is considered that one of the most conspicuous treaties of modern history contains solemn exactions from France by England herself, that the harbor of Dunkirk, whose prosperity was regarded with jealousy, should be permanently “filled up,” so that it could no longer furnish those hospitalities to commerce for which it was famous. This was the Treaty of Utrecht, in 1713. The Triple Alliance, four years later, compelled France to stipulate again that nothing should be omitted “which Great Britain could think necessary for the entire destruction of the harbor”; and the latter power was authorized to send commissioners as “ocular witnesses of the execution of the treaty.” These humiliating provisions were renewed in successive treaties down to the Peace of Versailles, in 1783, when the immunity of that harbor was recognized with American Independence. And yet it is Great Britain, thus persistent in closing ports and rivers, that now interferes to warn us against a stone blockade in a war to put down Rebel Slavery.

(5.) The same propensity and the same inconsistency appear in another instance, where an eminent peer, once Foreign Secretary, did not hesitate, from his place in Parliament, to charge the United States with making medicines and surgical instruments contraband, “contrary to all the common laws of war, _contrary to all precedent, not excluding the most ignorant and barbarous ages_.”[13] Thus exclaims the noble Lord. Now I have nothing to say of the propriety of making these things contraband. My simple object is to exhibit the spirit against which we are to guard. It is difficult to understand how such a display could be made in face of the historic fact, exposed in the satire of Peter Plymley, that Parliament, in 1808, by large majorities, prohibited the exportation of Peruvian bark into any territory occupied by France, and that this prohibition was moved by no less a person than the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Perceval, who commended it on the ground that “the severest pressure was already felt on the Continent from the want of that article,” and that “it was of great importance to the armies of the enemy.”[14] Such, in an age neither “ignorant” nor “barbarous,” is authentic British precedent, but now ostentatiously forgotten.

(6.) The same recklessness, of such evil omen, breaks forth again in a despatch of the Foreign Secretary, where he undertakes to communicate the judgment of the British Cabinet on the President’s Proclamation of Emancipation. Here, at least, you will say there can be no misunderstanding and no criticism; but you are mistaken. Under any ordinary circumstances, when great passions find no vent, such an act, having such an object, and being of such unparalleled importance, would be treated by the minister of a foreign power with supreme caution, if not with sympathy; but, under the terrible influence of the hour, Earl Russell, not content with condemning the Proclamation, misrepresents it in the most barefaced manner. This was done in a communication to Lord Lyons here in Washington. Gathering his condemnation into one phrase, he says that it “makes Slavery at once legal and illegal”[15]; whereas it is obvious to the most careless observer, who looks only at the face of the Proclamation, that, whatever its faults, it is not obnoxious to this criticism, for it makes Slavery legal nowhere, while it makes it illegal in an immense territory. An official letter so incomprehensible in motive, from a statesman usually liberal, if not cautious, is another illustration of that irritating tendency which will be checked, at last, when it is fully comprehended.

(7.) The activity of our navy is only another occasion for criticism in a similar spirit. Nothing can be done anywhere to please our self-constituted monitor. Our naval officers in the West Indies, acting under instructions modelled on the judgments of the British Admiralty, are reprehended by Earl Russell in a formal despatch.[16] The judges in our Prize Court are indecently belittled by this same minister, from his place in Parliament,[17] when it is notorious that there are several who compare favorably with any British Admiralty judge since Lord Stowell, not even excepting that noble and upright magistrate, Dr. Lushington. And this same minister has undertaken to throw the British shield over a newly invented contraband trade with the Rebel Slavemongers _viâ_ Matamoras, claiming that it is “a lawful branch of commerce” and “a perfectly legitimate trade.” The “Dolphin” and “Peterhoff” were two ships elaborately prepared in London for this illicit commerce, and they have been duly condemned as such; but their seizure was made the occasion of official protest and complaint, with the insinuation of “vexatious capture and arbitrary interference,” followed by the menace, that, under such circumstances, “it is obvious that Great Britain must interfere to protect her flag.”[18]

(8.) This persistent, inexorable criticism, even at the expense of all consistency, or of all memory, has broken forth in forms incompatible with that very “neutrality” so early declared. It was bad enough to declare neutrality, when the question was between a friendly power and an insulting barbarism; but it is worse, after the declaration, to depart from it, _if in words only_. The Court of Rome, at a period when it dictated the usage of nations, instructed its Cardinal Legate, on an important occasion, as a solemn duty, first and above all things, to cultivate “indifference” between the parties, and in this regard he was to be so exact, that not only should no partiality be seen in his conduct, but it should not be remarked even “_in the actions and words of his domestics_.”[19] If, in that early day, before steam and telegraph, or even the newspaper, neutrality was disturbed by “words,” how much more so now, when every word is multiplied indefinitely, and wafted we know not whither, to begin, wherever it falls, a subtle, wide-spread, and irrepressible influence! This injunction is in plain harmony with the refined rule of Count Bernstorff, who, in his admirable despatch at the time of the Armed Neutrality, says sententiously: “Neutrality does not exist, _when it is not perfect_.”[20] It must be clear and above suspicion. Like the reputation of a woman, it is lost when you begin to talk about it. Unhappily, there is too much occasion to talk about the “neutrality” of England.

I say nothing of a Parliamentary utterance, that the national cause was “detested by a large majority of the House of Commons”; nor do I speak of other most unneutral speeches. I confine myself to official declarations. Here the case is plain. Several of the British Cabinet, including the Foreign Secretary and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, two masters of “words,” have allowed themselves in public speech to characterize our present effort to put down Rebel Slavery as “a contest for empire on one side and for independence on the other.” Here are “words” which, under a specious form, openly encouraged Rebel Slavery. But they are more specious than true, revealing nothing but the side espoused by the orators. Clearly, on our side it is a contest for national life, involving the liberty of a race. Clearly, on the other side it is a contest for Slavery, in order to secure for this hateful crime _new_ recognition and power; and it began in rebellion against the solemn judgment of the American people, declaring, in the election of Abraham Lincoln, that Slavery shall not be extended. Our empire is simply to crush Rebel Slavery. Their independence is but the unrestrained power to whip and sell women and children. If at the beginning the National Government made no declaration, yet the real character of the war was none the less apparent in the Presidential election, out of which it grew, and in the repeated declarations of the other side, who did not hesitate to assert their purpose to build a _new_ power on Slavery,--as in the Italian campaign of Louis Napoleon against Austria the object was necessarily apparent, even before the Emperor tardily at Milan put forth his life-giving proclamation that Italy should be free from the Alps to the Adriatic, by which the war became, in its avowed purpose, as well as in reality, a war of liberation. That such a rebellion should be elevated by the unneutral “words” of a foreign Cabinet into respectability which it deserves so little is only another sign we have to watch.