SPEECH.
FELLOW-CITIZENS,—From the beginning of the war in which we are now engaged, the public interest has alternated anxiously between the current of events at home and the more distant current abroad. Foreign Relations have been hardly less absorbing than Domestic Relations. At times the latter seem to wait upon the former, and a packet from Europe is like a messenger from the seat of war. Rumors of foreign intervention are constant, now in the form of mediation, and then in the form of recognition; and more than once the country has been summoned to confront the menace of England, and of France, too, in open combination with Rebel Slavemongers battling in the name of Slavery to build an infamous power on the destruction of this Republic.
It is well for us to turn aside from battle and siege at home, from the blazing lines of Vicksburg, Gettysburg, and Charleston, to glance for a moment at the perils from abroad: of course I mean from England and France; for these are the only foreign powers thus far moved to intermeddle on the side of Slavery. The subject to which I invite attention may want the attraction of waving standards or victorious marches; but, more than any conflict of arms, it concerns the civilization of the age. If foreign powers can justly interfere against human freedom, this Republic will not be the only sufferer.
There is always a natural order in unfolding a subject, and I shall try to pursue it on this occasion, under the following heads.
First. The perils to our country from foreign powers, especially foreshadowed in the unexpected and persistent conduct of England and France since the outbreak of the war.
Secondly. The nature of foreign intervention by mediation, with the principles applicable thereto, illustrated by historic instances, showing especially how England, by conspicuous, wide-spread, and most determined intervention to promote the extinction of African Slavery, is irrevocably committed against any act or policy that can encourage this criminal pretension.
Thirdly. The nature of foreign intervention by recognition, with the principles applicable thereto, illustrated by historic instances, showing that by the practice of nations, and especially by the declared sentiments of British statesmen, there can be no foreign recognition of an insurgent power, where the contest for independence is still pending.
Fourthly. The moral impossibility of foreign recognition, even if the pretended power be de facto independent, where it is composed of Rebel Slavemongers seeking to found a new power with Slavery for its declared “corner-stone.” Pardon the truthful plainness of the terms I employ. I am to speak not merely of Slaveholders, but of people to whom Slavery is a passion and a business, therefore Slavemongers,—now in rebellion for the sake of Slavery, therefore Rebel Slavemongers.
Fifthly. The absurdity and wrong of conceding ocean belligerence to a pretended power, which, in the first place, is without a Prize Court, so that it cannot be an ocean belligerent in fact,—and, in the second place, even if ocean belligerent in fact, is of such an odious character that its recognition is a moral impossibility.
From this review, touching upon the present and the past, leaning upon history and upon law, enlightened always by principles which are an unerring guide, our conclusion will be easy.
I.
The perils to our country, foreshadowed in the action of foreign powers since the outbreak of the war, first invite attention.
There is something in the tendencies of nations which must not be neglected. Like individuals, nations influence each other; like the heavenly bodies, they are disturbed by each other in their appointed orbits. Apparent even in peace, this becomes more so in the convulsions of war, whether from the withdrawal of customary forces or from their increased momentum. It is the nature of war to enlarge as it continues. Beginning between two nations, it gradually widens its circle, ingulfing other nations in its fiery maelström. Such is human history. Nor is it different, if the war be for independence. Foreign powers may for a while keep out of the conflict; but examples of history show how difficult this has been.
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.
(9.) These same Cabinet orators, not content with giving us a bad name, allow themselves to pronounce against us on the whole case. They declare that the National Government cannot succeed in crushing Rebel Slavery, and that dismemberment is inevitable. “Jefferson Davis,” says one of them, “has created a nation.” Thus do these representatives of declared “neutrality” degrade us and exalt Slavery. It is apparent that their utterance, though made in Parliament and repeated at public meetings, was founded less on special information from the seat of war—disclosing its secret—than on political theory, if not prejudice. It is true that our eloquent teacher, Edmund Burke, in his famous Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, argued most persuasively that Great Britain could not succeed in reclaiming the colonies which had declared themselves independent. His reasoning rather than his wisdom enters into and possesses the British statesmen of our day, who do not take the trouble to see how the two cases are so entirely unlike that the example of the one is not applicable to the other,—that the colonies were battling to found a new power on the corner-stone of Liberty, Equality, and Happiness to All Men, while our Slavemongers are battling to found a new power on the corner-stone of Slavery. The difference becomes a contrast, so that whatever was once generously said in favor of American Independence now tells with unmistakable force against this new-fangled pretension.
No British statesman saw the past more clearly than Earl Russell, when, long ago, in striking phrase, he said that England, in her war against our fathers, “had engaged for the suppression of Liberty”;[21] but this is precisely what Rebel Slavery is doing. Men change, but principles are the same now as then. Therefore do I say, that every sympathy formerly bestowed upon our fathers now belongs to us their children, striving to uphold their work against bad men, who would not only break it in pieces, but put in its stead a new piratical power, whose declared object is “the suppression of Liberty.” And yet British ministers, mounting the prophetic tripod, presume most oracularly to foretell the doom of this Republic. Their prophecies do not disturb my confidence. I do not forget how often false prophets have appeared, like the author of the “Oceana,” who published a demonstration that monarchy was impossible in England[22] less than six months before Charles the Second was welcomed to London amid salvos of cannon and hurrahs of the people. Nor do I stop to consider how far such prophecies uttered in public places by British ministers are consistent with that British “neutrality” so constantly boasted. Opinions are allies more potent than subsidies, especially in an age like the present. Prophecies are opinions proclaimed and projected into the future; and yet these are given freely to Rebel Slavery. There is matter for reflection in this instance, but I adduce it only as another illustration of the times. Nothing is more clear than that whosoever assumes to play prophet becomes pledged in character and pretension to sustain his prophecy. The learned Jerome Cardan, professor and doctor, also dabbler in astrology, of great fame in the sixteenth century, undertook to predict the day of his death, and he maintained his prophetic character by taking his own life at the appointed time. If British ministers, playing prophet, escape the ordinary influences of this craft, it is from that happy nature which suspends for them human infirmity and human prejudice. But it becomes us to note well the increased difficulties and dangers to which, on this account, the national cause is exposed.
(10.) It is not in “words” only, of speeches, despatches, or declarations, that our danger lies. I am sorry to add, that there are acts, also, with which the British Government is too closely associated. I do not refer to the unlimited supply of “munitions of war,” so that our army everywhere, whether at Vicksburg or Charleston, is compelled to encounter Armstrong guns and Blakely guns, with all proper ammunition, from England; for the right of British subjects to sell these articles to Rebel Slavemongers was fixed, when the latter, by sudden metamorphosis, were changed from lawless vagrants of the ocean to lawful belligerents. Nor do I refer to the swarms of swift steamers, “a pitchy cloud warping on the eastern wind,” always under British flag, with contributions to Rebel Slavery; for these, too, enjoy kindred immunity. Of course no royal proclamation can change wrong into right, or make such business otherwise than immoral; but the proclamation may take from it the character of felony.
Even the royal manifesto gives no sanction to the fitting out in England of a naval expedition against the commerce of the United States. It leaves the Parliamentary statute, as well as the general Law of Nations, in full efficacy to restrain and punish such offence. And yet, in face of this obvious prohibition, standing forth in the text of the law, and founded in reason “ere human statute purged the gentle weal,” also exemplified by the National Government, which, from the time of Washington, has always guarded its ports against such outrage, powerful ships are launched, equipped, fitted out, and manned in England, with arms supplied at sea from another English vessel, and then, assuming that by this insulting hocus pocus all English liability is avoided, they proceed at once to rob and destroy the commerce of the United States. England is the naval base from which are derived the original forces and supplies enabling them to sail the sea. Several such ships are now depredating on the ocean, like Captain Kidd, under pretended commissions, each in itself a naval expedition. As England is not at war with the United States, these ships can be nothing else than pirates; and their conduct is that of pirates. Unable to provide a court for the trial of prizes, they revive for every captured ship the barbarous Ordeal of Fire. Like pirates, they burn what they cannot rob. Raging from sea to sea, they turn the ocean into a furnace and melting-pot of American commerce. Of these incendiaries, the most famous is the “Alabama,” with a picked crew of British seamen, with “trained gunners out of her Majesty’s naval reserve,” all, like those of Queen Elizabeth, described as “good sailors and better pirates,” and with everything else from keel to truck British, which, after more than a year of unlawful havoc, is still firing the property of our citizens, without once entering a Rebel Slavemonger port, but always keeping the umbilical connection with England, out of whose womb she sprung, and never losing the original nationality stamped upon her by origin, so that, at this day, she is a British pirate ship, precisely as a native-born Englishman, robbing on the high seas, and never naturalized abroad, is a British pirate subject.
It is bad enough that all this should proceed from England. It is hard to bear. Why is it not stopped at once? One cruiser might, perhaps, elude a watchful government. But it is difficult to see how this can occur once, twice, three times,—and the cry is, Still they sail! Two powerful rams are announced, like stars at a theatre. Will they, also, be allowed to perform? I wish there were not too much reason to believe that all these performances are sustained by prevailing British sympathy. A Frenchman, accidentally prisoner on the Alabama at the destruction of two American ships, describes a British packet in sight whose crowded passengers made the sea resound with cheers, as they witnessed the captured ships handed over to the flames. The words of Lucretius were verified:—
“Suave etiam belli certamina magna tueri.”[23]
And these same cheers were echoed in Parliament, as the builder of the piratical craft gloried in his deed. The verse which filled the ancient theatre with glad applause declared sympathy with Humanity[24]; but English applause is now given to Slavery and its defenders: “I am an Englishman, and nothing of Slavery is foreign to me.” Accordingly, Slavery is helped by English arms, English gold, English ships, English speeches, English cheers. And yet, for the honor of England be it known, there are Englishmen who stand firm and unshaken amidst this painful recreancy. Their names cannot be forgotten. And still more for the honor of England be it spoken, the working classes, called to suffer the most, bravely bear their calamity, without joining the enemies of the Republic. Their cheers are for Freedom, and not for Slavery.
But the cheers of the House of Commons prevail in her Majesty’s Government. Municipal Law is violated, while International Law, in its most solemn obligation to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, is treated as the merest nullity. Eminent British functionaries, in Court and Parliament, vindicate the naval expeditions which in the name of Slavery are unleashed against a friendly power. Taking advantage of an admitted principle, that, after the concession of belligerent rights, “munitions of war” may be supplied, the Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer tells us that “ships of war” may be supplied also. Lord Palmerston echoes Lord Chief Baron. Each vouches American authority. But they are mistaken. The steel which they strive to “impel” cannot be feathered from our sides. Since the earliest stage of its existence, the National Government has asserted a distinction between the two cases; and so has the Supreme Court, although there are words of Story latterly quoted to the contrary. The authority of the Supreme Court is positive on the two points into which the British apology is divided. The first is, that, even if a “ship of war” cannot be furnished, the offence is incomplete until the armament is put aboard, so that, where the ship, though fitted out and equipped in a British port, awaits an armament at sea, she is not liable to arrest. Such apology is an insult to the understanding and to common sense,—as if it were not obvious that the offence begins with the laying of the keel for the hostile ship, knowing it to be such:[25] and in this spirit the Supreme Court has decided that it is not necessary to find that a ship on leaving port was armed, or in a condition to commit hostilities; for citizens are restrained from such acts as are calculated to involve the country in war.[26] The second apology assumes, that, even if the armament were aboard, so that the “ship of war” is complete at all points, still the expedition would be lawful, if the fiction of a sale were adroitly managed. On this point, the Supreme Court, speaking by Chief-Justice Marshall, has left no doubt of its deliberate and most authoritative judgment. In the case before the Court the armament was aboard, but cleared as cargo; the men, too, were aboard, but enlisted for a commercial voyage; the ship, though fitted out to cruise against a nation with which we were at peace, was not commissioned as a privateer, and did not attempt to act as such, until she reached the river La Plata, where a commission was obtained and the crew reënlisted; yet, in the face of these extenuating circumstances, it was declared by the whole Court, that the neutrality of the United States had been violated, so that the guilty ship could not afterwards be recognized as a legitimate cruiser. All the disguises were to no purpose. The Court penetrated them every one, saying, that, if such a ship could lawfully sail, there would be on our part “a fraudulent neutrality, disgraceful to our own Government, and of which no nation would be the dupe.”[27] But a “neutrality” worse even than that condemned in advance by our Supreme Court, “of which no nation would be the dupe,” is now served out to us, which nothing can explain, short of the fatal war-spirit that has entered into Great Britain. There was a time when the Foreign Secretary of England, truly eminent as statesman and orator, Mr. Canning, said in the House of Commons: “If a war must come, let it come in the shape of satisfaction to be demanded for injuries, of rights to be asserted, of interests to be protected, of treaties to be fulfilled. But, in God’s name, let it not come on in the paltry, pettifogging way of fitting out ships in our harbors to cruise for gain. At all events, let the country disdain to be sneaked into a war.”[28] These noble words were uttered in reply to Lord John Russell and his associates in 1823, when trying to repeal the Foreign Enlistment Act, and to overturn the statute safeguards of British neutrality. They speak now with greater force even than then.
Though it be admitted that “ships of war,” like “munitions of war,” may be sold to a belligerent, as is asserted by the British Prime-Minister, echoing the Lord Chief Baron, it is obvious that it can be only with the distinction already mentioned, that the sale is a commercial transaction, pure and simple, and not in any respect a hostile expedition fitted out in England. The ship must be “exported” as an article of commerce, and must continue such until arrival at the belligerent port, where alone can it be fitted out and commissioned as a “ship of war,” when its hostile character will commence. Any attempt in England to impart a hostile character to the ship, or, in one word, to make England its naval base, must be criminal: but this is precisely what has been done. Ships are sent forth, armed and equipped. And, pray, how distinguish a ship armed and equipped from a regiment armed and equipped? It is not a munition, it is not even an article, but much more; and here is the distinction not to be overlooked. It is an organized force, and the nation sending it forth makes itself a party to the war,—all of which England has done. And here are the leonine footprints which point so badly.
(11.) Not content with misconstruing the decisions of our Supreme Court, making them a cover for naval expeditions to depredate on our commerce, our whole history is forgotten or misrepresented. It is forgotten, that, as early as 1793, under the administration of Washington, before any Act of Congress on the subject, the National Government recognized its liability, under the Law of Nations, for ships fitted out in its ports to depredate on British commerce; that Washington, in his speech at the opening of Congress, describes such ships as “vessels commissioned or equipped in a warlike form within the limits of the United States,” and also as “military expeditions or enterprises”;[29] and that Jefferson, vindicating this policy of repression, said, in a letter to the French Minister, that it was “our wish to preserve the morals of our citizens from being vitiated by courses of lawless plunder and murder”;[30] that, on this occasion, the National Government made the distinction between “munitions of war,” which a neutral might supply in the way of commerce to a belligerent, and “ships of war,” which a neutral was not allowed to supply or even to augment with arms; that Mr. Hammond, the British plenipotentiary at that time, by his letter of 8th May, 1793, after complaining of two French privateers, fitted out at Charleston to cruise against British commerce, expressly declares that “he conceives them to be breaches of that neutrality which the United States profess to observe, and direct contraventions of the proclamation which the President issued,”[31] and that very soon there were criminal proceedings, at British instigation, on account of these privateers, in which it was affirmed by the Court that such ships could not be fitted out in a neutral port without violation of international obligations; that promptly, on the representation of the British Government, a statute was enacted by Congress, in harmony with the Law of Nations, for the better maintenance of our neutrality;[32] that, in 1818, another statute followed in the nature of a Foreign Enlistment Act,[33] afterwards proposed as an example by Lord Castlereagh, when urging a similar statute upon Parliament;[34] that, in 1823, the conduct of the United States on this whole head was presented as a model by Mr. Canning;[35] that, in 1838, during the rebellion in Canada, on the appeal of the British Government, and to its special satisfaction, as was announced in Parliament by Lord Palmerston, at the time Foreign Secretary, our Government promptly declared its purpose “to maintain the supremacy of those laws which were passed to fulfil the obligations of the United States to all friendly nations who may be unfortunately engaged in foreign or domestic war,” and, not satisfied with existing powers, undertook to ask additional legislation from Congress; that Congress proceeded at once to the enactment of another statute, calculated to meet the immediate exigency, where it is provided that collectors, marshals, and other officers shall “seize and detain any vessel or any arms or munitions of war which may be provided or prepared for any military expedition or enterprise against the territory or dominions of any foreign prince or state.”[36] It is something to forget these things; but it is convenient to forget still further, that, at the Crimean War, in 1854, the British Government, jointly with France, made another appeal to the United States, that our citizens should “rigorously abstain from taking part in armaments of Russian privateers, or in any other measure opposed to the duties of a strict neutrality”;[37] and this appeal, declared by the British Government to be “in the spirit of just reciprocity,” was answered on our part by a sincere and determined vigilance, so that not a single British or French ship suffered from any cruiser fitted out in our ports. And it is also convenient to forget no less the solemn obligations of treaty, binding both parties:—
“That the subjects and citizens of the two nations shall not do any acts of hostility or violence against each other, nor accept commissions or instructions so to act from any foreign prince or state, enemies to the other party; nor shall the enemies of one of the parties be permitted to invite or endeavor to enlist in their military service any of the subjects or citizens of the other party; and the laws against all such offences and aggressions shall be punctually executed.”[38]
At the date of this treaty, in 1794, there was little legislation on the subject in either country; so that the treaty, in harmony with the practice, testifies to the requirements of the Law of Nations as understood at the time by both powers.
And yet, disregarding all these things, which show how faithfully the National Government has acted, both in measures of repression and measures of compensation, also how often the British Government asked and received protection at our hands, and how highly our example of neutrality has been appreciated by leading British statesmen,—and disowning, also, that “spirit of just reciprocity,” which, besides being the prompting of an honest nature, has been positively promised, ship after ship is permitted to leave British ports to depredate on our commerce; and when we complain of an outrage so unprecedented and so unjustifiable, all the obligations of International Law are ignored, and we are petulantly told that the evidence against the ships is not sufficient under the statute; and when we propose that the statute shall be rendered efficient for the purpose,—precisely as in past times the British Government, under circumstances less stringent, proposed to us,—we are pointedly repelled by the old baronial declaration, that there must be no change in the laws of England,—“nolumus leges Angliæ mutari”; while, to cap this strange insensibility, Lord Palmerston, in a last debate of the late Parliament, brings against us a groundless charge of infidelity to neutral duties during the Crimean War,[39] when the fact is notoriously the reverse, and Earl Russell, in the same spirit, imagines an equally groundless charge, which he records in one of his diplomatic notes, that we have recently enlisted men in Ireland,[40] when notoriously we have done no such thing. Thus are the obligations of reciprocal service and good-will openly discarded, while our public conduct, as well in the past as the present, is openly misrepresented.
(12.) This flagrant oblivion of history and of duty, which seems the adopted policy of the British Government, is characteristically followed by flat refusal to pay for the damages to our commerce caused by the hostile expeditions. The United States, with Washington as President, on application of the British Government, made compensation for damages to British commerce under circumstances much less vexatious,—and, still further, by special treaty, made compensation for damages “by vessels originally armed” in our ports,[41]—which is the present case. Of course it can make no difference, not a pin’s difference, if the armament is carried out to sea in another vessel from a British port and there transshipped. Such an elaborate evasion may be effectual against a Parliamentary statute, but it must be impotent against a demand upon the British Government, according to the principles of International Law; for this law looks always at substance, and not form, and will not be diverted by the trick of a pettifogger. Whether the armament be put on board in port or at sea, England is always the naval base, or, according to the language of Sir William Scott in a memorable case, the “station” or “vantage-ground,” which he declared a neutral country could not be.[42] Therefore the early precedent between the United States and England is in every respect completely applicable; and since this precedent was established not only by the consent of England, but at her motion, it must be accepted on the present occasion as an irreversible declaration of international duty. Other nations might differ, but England is bound. And now it is her original interpretation, first made to take compensation from us, which is flatly rejected when we ask compensation from her. Even if the responsibility for a hostile expedition fitted out in British ports were not plain, there is something in the recent conduct of the British Government calculated to remove all doubt. Pirate ships are reported on the stocks ready to be launched, and when the Parliamentary statute is declared insufficient to stop them, the British Government declines to amend it, and, so doing, openly declines to stop the pirate ships, saying, “If the Parliamentary statute is inadequate, then let them sail.” It is not needful to consider the apology. The act of declension is positive, and its consequences are no less positive, fixing beyond question the responsibility of the British Government for these criminal expeditions. Thus fixing the responsibility, we but follow the suggestions of reason and the text of an approved authority, whose words have been adopted in England.
“It must be laid down as a maxim, that a sovereign, who, knowing the crimes of his subjects, as, for example, that they practice piracy on strangers, and, being also able and obliged to hinder it, does not hinder it, renders himself criminal, because he has consented to the bad action, the commission of which he has permitted.… It is presumed that a sovereign knows what his subjects openly and frequently commit; and as to his power of hindering the evil, this likewise is always presumed, unless the want of it be clearly proved.”[43]
Such are the words of Burlamaqui, in his work on Political Law, quoted with approbation by Phillimore, in his work on the Law of Nations.[44] Unless these words are discarded as “a maxim,” while the early precedent of British demand upon us is also rudely rejected, it is difficult to see how the British Government can avoid the consequences of complicity with the pirate ships in all their lawless devastation. I forbear to dwell on this accumulating liability, amounting already to many millions of dollars, with accumulating exasperations also. My present object is accomplished, if I make you see which way danger lies.
(13.) Beyond acts and words, this same British rabbia shows itself in the official tone towards the national cause in its unparalleled struggle, especially throughout the correspondence of the British Foreign Office. There is little friendship in any of these letters. Nor is there any sympathy with the national championship against Rebel Slavery, nor even one word of mildest dissent from the miscreant apocalypse preached in its behalf. Naturally the tone is in harmony with the sentiment. Hard, curt, captious, cynical, it evinces indifference to that kindly intercourse which nations ought to cultivate with each other, and which should be the study of a wise statesmanship. The Malay runs amuck, and such is the British diplomatic style in dealing with us. This is painfully conspicuous in all that concerns the pirate ships. But I can well understand that a Secretary conceding belligerent rights to Rebel Slavery so easily, and then so easily permitting its ships to sally forth for piracy, would be very indifferent to the tone of what he wrote. And yet, even outrage may be soothed or softened by gentle words; but none such come out of British diplomacy to us. Most deeply do I regret this too suggestive failure. And believe me, fellow-citizens, I say these things with sorrow unspeakable, and only in discharge of my duty, when, face to face, I meet you to consider the aspects of our affairs abroad.
(14.) There is still another head of danger, in which all others culminate. I refer to intrusive mediation, or, it may be, recognition of the Slavemonger attempt as an independent nation,—for such movements have been made openly in Parliament and urged constantly by the British press, and, though not yet adopted by her Majesty’s Government, have never been repelled on principle, so that they constitute a perpetual cloud threatening to break. It is plain to all who have not forgotten history, that England never can be guilty of such recognition without unpardonable apostasy; nor can she intervene by way of mediation, except in the interests of Freedom. And yet such are the “elective affinities” newly born between England and Slavery, such is the wilful blindness with regard to our country, kindred to that which prevailed in the time of George Grenville and Lord North, that her Majesty’s Government, instead of repelling the proposition, simply adjourn it, adopting meanwhile the attitude of one watching to strike. The British Minister at Washington, of model prudence, whose individual desire for peace I cannot doubt, tells his Government, in a despatch found in the last Blue Book, that as yet he sees no sign of “a conjuncture at which foreign powers may step in with propriety and effect to put a stop to the effusion of blood.”[45] Here is the plain assumption that such conjuncture may occur. For the present we are left free to wage the battle against Slavery without any such intervention in arrest of the national efforts.
Such are some of the warnings which lower from the English sky arching the graves of Wilberforce and Clarkson, while sounding above these sacred resting-places are heard strange, un-English voices, crying out: “Come unto us, Rebel Slavemongers, whippers of women and sellers of children!—for you are the people of our choice, whom we welcome promptly to ocean rights, with Armstrong guns and naval expeditions equipped in our ports, and on whom we lavish sympathy always and the prophecy of success; while for you who uphold the Republic and oppose Slavery we have hard words, criticism, rebuke, and the menace of war!”
Crossing the Channel into France, we are not encouraged much. And yet the Emperor, though acting habitually in concert with the British Cabinet, has not intermeddled so illogically or displayed a temper of so little international amiability. The correspondence under his direction, even at the most critical moments, leaves little to be desired in respect of form. Nor has there been a single blockade-runner under the French flag, nor a single pirate ship from a French port. But, in spite of these things, it is too apparent that the Emperor has taken sides against us in at least four important public acts, positively, plainly, offensively. The Duc de Choiseul, Prime-Minister of France, was addressed by Frederick of Prussia as “Coachman of Europe,”—a title which belongs now to Louis Napoleon. But he must not try to be “coachman of America.”
(1.) Following the example of England, Louis Napoleon acknowledges the Rebel Slavemongers as ocean belligerents, so that, with the sanction of France, our ancient ally, their pirate ships, although without a single open port which they can call their own, enjoy complete immunity as lawful cruisers, while all who sympathize with them furnish supplies and munitions of war. This fatal concession was aggravated by the concurrence of the two great powers. But, God be praised, their joint act, though capable of giving brief vitality to Slavery on pirate decks, is impotent to confirm the intolerable pretension.
(2.) Sinister events are not alone, and this recognition of Slavery was followed by an expedition of France, in concurrence with England and Spain, against our neighbor Republic, Mexico. The two latter powers very soon withdrew, but the Emperor, less wise, did not hesitate at invasion. A French fleet, with an unmatched iron-clad,—the consummate product of French naval art,—is now at Vera Cruz, and the French army, after a protracted siege, has stormed Puebla and entered the famous capital. This far-reaching enterprise was originally declared to be nothing more than process, served by a general, for the recovery of outstanding debts due to French citizens. But the Emperor, in a mystic letter to General Forey, gives it another character. He proposes nothing less than the restoration of the Latin race on this side of the Atlantic, and more than intimates that the United States must be restrained in power and influence over the Gulf of Mexico and the Antilles. And now the Archduke Maximilian of Austria is proclaimed Emperor of Mexico under the protection of France. It is obvious that this imperial invasion, though only indirectly against us, would not have been made, if our convulsions had not left the door of the Continent ajar, so that foreign powers may bravely enter in. And it is more obvious that this attempt to plant a throne by our side would “have died before it saw the light,” had it not been supposed that Rebel Slavery was about to triumph.[46] Plainly the whole transaction is connected with our affairs. But it can be little more than a transient experiment; for who can doubt that this imperial exotic, planted by foreign care and propped by foreign bayonets, must disappear before the ascending glory of the Republic?
(3.) This enterprise of war was followed by an enterprise of diplomacy not less hardy. The Emperor, not content with stirring against us the Gulf of Mexico, the Antilles, and the Latin race, entered upon work of a different character. He invited England and Russia to unite with France in tendering to the two “belligerents” (such is the equal designation of our Republic and the embryo Slavemonger mockery!) a joint mediation to procure “an armistice for six months, during which every act of war, direct or indirect, should provisionally cease on sea as well as on land, to be renewed, if necessary, for a further period.” The Cabinets of England and Russia, better inspired, declined the invitation, which looked to little short of recognition itself. Under the proposed armistice, all our vast operations must have been suspended, the blockade itself must have ceased, while the Rebel ports were opened on the one side to unlimited supplies and military stores, and on the other to unlimited exports of cotton. Trade, for the time, would have been legalized in these ports, and Slavery would have lifted its grinning front before the civilized world. Not disheartened by this failure, the Emperor alone pushed forward his diplomatic enterprise against us, as alone he had pushed forward his military enterprise against Mexico, and presented to our Government the unsupported mediation of France. His offer was promptly rejected by the President. By solemn resolutions of both Houses, adopted with singular unanimity, and communicated since to all foreign governments, Congress announced that such a proposition could be attributed only to “a misunderstanding of the true state of the question, and of the real character of the war in which the Republic is engaged”; and that it was in its nature so far injurious to the national interests that Congress would be obliged to consider its repetition an unfriendly act.[47] This strong language frankly states the true position of our country. Any such offer, whatever its motive, must be an encouragement to the Rebellion. In an age when ideas prevail and even words become things, the simple declarations of statesmen are of incalculable importance. But the head of a great nation is more than statesman in such influence. The imperial proposition tended directly to the dismemberment of the Republic and the substitution of a ghastly Slavemonger nation.
Baffled in this effort twice attempted, the Emperor does not yet abandon his policy. We are told that it is “postponed to a more suitable opportunity”; so that he, too, waits to strike, if the Gallic cock does not sound alarm in an opposite quarter. Meanwhile the development of the Mexican expedition shows too clearly the motive of mediation. It was all one transaction. Mexico was invaded for empire, and mediation was proposed to help the plot. But the invasion must fail with the diplomacy to which it is allied.
(4.) The policy of the French Emperor towards our Republic is not left to uncertain inference. For a long time public report has pronounced him unfriendly, and now public report is confirmed by what he does and says. The ambassadorial attorney of Rebel Slavery is received at the Tuileries, members of Parliament on an errand of hostility to our cause are received at Fontainebleau, and the open declaration is made that the Emperor desires to recognize Rebel Slavery as an independent power. This is hard to believe, but it is too true. The French Emperor is against us. In an evil hour, under temptations which should be scouted, he forgets the precious traditions of France, whose blood commingled with ours in a common cause; he forgets the swords of Lafayette and Rochambeau, flashing side by side with the swords of Washington and the earlier Lincoln, while the lilies of the ancient monarchy floated together with the stars of our infant flag; he forgets that early alliance, sealed by Franklin, which gave to the Republic the assurance of national life, and made France the partner of her rising glory;—“Heu pietas! heu prisca fides! Manibus date lilia plenis!”—and he forgets still more the obligations of his own name,—how the first Napoleon surrendered to us Louisiana and the whole region west of the Mississippi, saying: “This accession of territory establishes forever the power of the United States, and gives to England a maritime rival destined to humble her pride”;[48] and he forgets, also, how he himself, when beginning intervention for Italian liberty, boasted proudly that France always stood for an “idea”; and forgetting these things, which mankind cannot forget, he seeks the disjunction of this Republic, with the spoliation of that very territory which came to us with such auspices, while France, always standing for an “idea,” stands, under the second Napoleon, for the “idea” of welcome to a new evangel of Slavery, with Mason and Slidell as the evangelists. Thus is imperial influence exerted for Rebel Slavemongers. The Emperor, for the present, forbears to fling his sword into the scale; but he flings his heavy hand, if not his sword.
Only recently we have the menace of the sword. The throne of Mexico is offered to an Austrian archduke. The desire to recognize the independence of Rebel Slavery is openly declared. These two incidents together are complements of each other. And now we are assured by concurring report, that Mexico is to be maintained as an empire. The policy of the Holy Alliance, originally organized against the great Napoleon, is adopted by his representative on the throne of France. What its despot authors left undone the present Emperor, nephew of the first, proposes to accomplish. Report informs us that Texas also is doomed to the imperial protectorate, thus ravishing a possession which belongs to this Republic as much as Normandy belongs to France.[49] The partition of Poland is acknowledged to be the great crime of the last century. It was accomplished by three powers, with the silent connivance of the rest, but not without pangs of remorse in one of the spoilers. “I know,” said Maria Theresa to the ambassador of Louis the Sixteenth, “that I have brought a deep stain on my reign by what has been done in Poland; but I am sure that I should be forgiven, if it could be known what repugnance I had to it.”[50] Here on this Continent the French Emperor seeks to play the very part which of old caused the contrition of Maria Theresa; nor could the partition of our broad country—if, in an evil hour, it were accomplished—fail to be the great crime of the present century. Trampler upon the Republic in France, trampler upon the Republic in Mexico, it remains to be seen if the French Emperor can prevail as trampler upon this Republic. I do not think he can; nor am I anxious on account of this new-found Emperor, who will be another King Canute against the rising tide of the American people. His chair must be withdrawn, or he will be overwhelmed.[51]
Here I bring to an end this unpleasant review. It is with little satisfaction, and only in explanation of our relations with foreign powers, that I accumulate these instances, not one of which, small or great, is without its painful lesson, while they all testify with a single voice to the perils of our country.
II.
Another branch of the subject is not less important. Considering all these things, and especially how great powers abroad constantly menace intervention, now by criticism and then by proffer of mediation, all tending painfully to something further, it becomes us to see what, according to International Law and the examples of history, will justify foreign intervention, in any of the forms it may take. And here there is one remark to be made at the outset. Nations are equal in the eye of International Law, so that what is right for one is right for all. It follows that no nation can justly exercise any right which it is not bound to concede under like circumstances. Therefore, should our cases be reversed, there is nothing England and France now propose, or may hereafter propose, which it will not be our equal right to propose, when Ireland or India once more rebels, or when France is in the throes of its next revolution. Generously, and for the sake of that international comity not lightly hazarded, we may reject the precedents they furnish; but it will be difficult for them to complain, if we follow their steps.
Foreign intervention is, on its face, inconsistent with every idea of national independence, which in itself is the natural and acknowledged right of a nation to rest undisturbed so long as it does not disturb others. If nations stood absolutely alone, dissociated from each other, so that what passed in one had little or no influence in another, only a tyrannical or intermeddling spirit could fail to recognize this right. But civilization, drawing nations nearer together and into one society, brings them under reciprocal influence, so that no nation can now act or suffer alone. Out of the relations and suggestions of good neighborhood, involving the admitted right of self-defence, springs the only justification or apology to be found for foreign intervention, which is the general term to signify interposition in the affairs of another country, whatever form it may take. Much is done under the name of “good offices,” whether in the form of mediation or intercession,—and much also by military power, whether in the declared will of superior force or directly by arms. Recognition of independence is also another instance. Intervention in any form is interference. If peaceable, it must be judged by its motive and tendency; if forcible, it will naturally be resisted by force.
Intervention may be between two or more nations, or between the two parties to a civil war; and yet again, it may be where there is no war, foreign or domestic. In each case it is governed by the same principles, except, perhaps, that in the case of civil war there should be more careful consideration, not only of the rights, but of the susceptibilities of a nation so severely tried. Such is the obvious suggestion of humanity. Intervention between nations is only a common form of participation in foreign war, but intervention in a civil war is intermeddling in the domestic concerns of another nation. Whoever acts at the joint invitation of belligerent parties to compose a bloody strife is entitled to the blessings which belong to the peacemakers; but, if uninvited, or acting at the invitation of one party only, he will be careful to proceed with reserve and tenderness, in the spirit of peace, and confining action to a proffer of good offices in the form of mediation or intercession, unless he is ready for war. Such proffer may be declined without offence. But it can never be forgotten, that, where one side is obviously fighting for Barbarism, any intervention, whatever form it takes,—if only by captious criticism, calculated to encourage the wrong side, or to secure for it time or temporary toleration, if not final success,—is plainly immoral. If not contrary to the Law of Nations, it ought to be.
Intervention in the spirit of peace and for the sake of peace belongs to the refinements of modern civilization. Intervention in the spirit of war, if not for the sake of war, has filled a large space in history, ancient and modern. But all these instances may be grouped under two heads: first, intervention in external affairs; and, secondly, intervention in internal affairs. The first is illustrated by the intervention of the Elector Maurice of Saxony against Charles the Fifth, of King William against Louis the Fourteenth, of Russia and France in the Seven Years’ War, of Russia again between France and Austria in 1805, and also between France and Prussia in 1806, and of France, Great Britain, and Sardinia between Turkey and Russia in the war of the Crimea.
The intervention of Russia, Austria, and Prussia in the affairs of Poland, of Great Britain among the native provinces of India, and of the Allied Powers in the French Revolution, under the continued inspiration of the Treaty of Pilnitz, are illustrations of the second head. Without dwelling on these great examples, I shall call attention to instances showing more especially the growth of intervention, first in external, and then in internal affairs. Here I shall conceal nothing. Instances seeming against the principles I have at heart will at least help illustrate the great subject, so that you may see it as it is.
(1.) First in order, and for the sake of completeness, I speak of intervention in external affairs, where two or more nations are parties.
As long ago as 1645, France offered mediation between what were then called “The Two Crowns of the North,” Sweden and Denmark. This was followed, in 1648, by the famous Peace of Westphalia, the beginning of our present Law of Nations, negotiated under the joint mediation of the Pope and the Republic of Venice, present by nuncio and ambassador. In 1655, the Emperor of Germany offered mediation between Sweden and Poland; but the old historian records that the Swedes suspected him of seeking to increase rather than to arrange pending difficulties; and the effort ended by the withdrawal of the imperial envoy into the Polish camp. Sweden, though often belligerent in those days, was not so always, and, in 1672, when war broke forth between France and England on one side and the Dutch Provinces on the other, we find her proffering mediation, which was promptly accepted by England, who justly rejected a similar proffer most hardily made by the Elector of Brandenburg, ancestor of the kings of Prussia, while marching at the head of his forces to join the Dutch. The English note on this occasion, written in what at the time was called “sufficiently bad French, but in very intelligible terms,” declared that the Electoral proffer, though under the pleasant name of mediation (par le doux nom de médiation), was adjudged to be only arbitration, and that, instead of mediation unarmed and disinterested, it was mediation armed and pledged to the enemies of England.[52]
Such are earlier instances, all of which have their lessons for us. There are modern, also. I allude only to the Triple Alliance, between Great Britain, Prussia, and Holland, which, at the close of the last century, successively intervened, by mediation which could not be resisted, to compel Denmark, while siding with Russia against Sweden, to remain neutral for the rest of the war,—then, in 1791, to dictate terms of peace between Austria and the Porte,—and lastly, in 1792, to constrain Russia into abandonment of her designs upon the Turkish Empire by the Peace of Jassy. On this occasion, the Russian Empress, Catharine the Second, peremptorily refused the mediation of Prussia, and the mediating Alliance made its approaches through Denmark, by whose good offices the Empress was finally induced to accept the treaty. While thus engaged in professed mediation, England, in a note to the French ambassador, declined to act as mediator between France and the Allied Powers, leaving that world-embracing war to proceed. Not only has England refused to act as mediator, but also refused submission to mediation. This was during the last war with the United States, when Russia, at that time the ally of England, proffered mediation between the two belligerents, which was promptly accepted by the United States. Its rejection by England, causing the prolongation of hostilities, was considered by Sir James Mackintosh less justifiable, as “a mediator is a common friend, who counsels both parties with a weight proportioned to their belief in his integrity and their respect for his power; but he is not an arbitrator, to whose decision they submit their differences, and whose award is binding on them.”[53] The Peace of Ghent was concluded at last under Russian mediation. But England has not always been belligerent. When Andrew Jackson menaced letters of marque against France, on account of failure to pay a sum stipulated in a recent treaty with the United States, King William the Fourth proffered mediation; but happily the whole question was already virtually arranged. It appears, also, that, before our war with Mexico, the good offices of England were tendered to the two parties; but neither was willing to accept them, and war took its course.
Such are instances of interference in external affairs; and since International Law is traced in history, they furnish a guide we cannot now neglect, especially when we regard the actual policy of England and France.
(2.) Instances of foreign intervention in the internal affairs of a nation are more pertinent. They are numerous, and not always harmonious, especially if we compare the new with the old. In the earlier times such intervention was regarded with repugnance. But the principle then declared has been sapped on the one side by the conspiracies of tyranny seeking the suppression of liberal institutions, and on the other by a generous sympathy breaking forth from time to time in their support. According to old precedents, most of which are found in the gossipping book of Wicquefort,[54] whence they have been copied by Mr. Wildman, in his “Institutes of International Law,”[55] even foreign intercession was prohibited. Not even in the name of charity could one ruler speak to another on the domestic affairs of his government. Peter, King of Aragon, was astonished at a proposed embassy from Alphonso, King of Castile, entreating mercy for rebels. Charles the Ninth of France, a detestable monarch, in reply to ambassadors of the Protestant princes of Germany, pleading for his Protestant subjects, insolently declared that he required no tutors to teach him how to rule. And yet this same sovereign did not hesitate to ask the Duke of Savoy to receive certain subjects “into his benign favor, and to restore and reëstablish them in their confiscated estates.”[56] In this appeal there was a double inconsistency; for it was not only interference in the affairs of another prince, but it was in behalf of Protestants, only a few months before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Henry the Third, successor of Charles, and another detestable monarch, in reply to the Protestant ambassadors, announced that he was a sovereign prince, and ordered them to leave his dominions. Louis the Thirteenth was of milder nature, and yet, when the English ambassador, the Earl of Carlisle, presumed to speak in favor of the Huguenots, he intimated that no interference between the King of France and his subjects could be approved. The Cardinal Richelieu, who governed France so long, learning that an attempt was made to procure the intercession of the Pope, stopped it by a message to his Holiness, that the King would be displeased by any such interference. The Pope himself, on another recorded occasion, admitted that it would be a pernicious precedent for a subject to negotiate terms of accommodation through a foreign prince. On still another occasion, when the King of France, forgetting his own rule, interposed in behalf of the Barberini family, Innocent the Tenth declared, that, having no desire to interfere in the affairs of France, he trusted his Majesty would not interfere in his. Queen Christina of Sweden, merely hinting a disposition to proffer good offices for the settlement of the unhappy divisions in France, was told by the Queen Regent that she need give herself no trouble about them, and one of her own ministers at Stockholm declared that the overture was properly rejected. Nor were the States General of Holland less sensitive. They even refused audience to the Spanish ambassador seeking to congratulate them on the settlement of a domestic question; and when the French ambassador undertook to plead for Roman Catholics, the States, by formal resolution, denounced his conduct as inconsistent with the peace and constitution of the Republic, all of which was communicated to him by eight deputies, who added in speech whatever the resolution seemed to want in plainness.
Nor is England without similar example. Louis the Thirteenth, shortly after the marriage of his sister Henrietta Maria with Charles the First, consented that the English ambassadors should interpose for French Protestants; but when the French ambassador in England requested the repeal of a law against Roman Catholics, Charles expressed his surprise that the King of France should presume to intermeddle in English affairs. Even as late as 1746, when, after the Battle of Culloden, the Dutch ambassador in France was induced to address the British Government in behalf of the unfortunate Charles Edward, to the effect, that, if taken, he should not be treated as a rebel, it is recorded that this intercession was greatly resented by the British Government, which, not content with apology from the unfortunate official, required that he should be rebuked by his own Government also.[57] And this is British testimony with regard to intervention in a civil war, even when it took the mildest form of intercession for the life of a prince.
In face of such repulses, all these nations, at different times, practised intervention in every variety of form,—sometimes by intercession or “good offices” only, sometimes by mediation, and often by arms. Even these instances attest the intermeddling spirit; for such intervention, however received, was at least attempted.
Two precedents belonging to the earlier period deserve to stand apart, not only for historic importance, but for applicability to our times. The first was the effort to institute mediation between King Charles the First and his Parliament, attempted by Cardinal Mazarin, that powerful minister, who, during the minority of Louis the Fourteenth, swayed France. The civil war had been waged for years; good men on each side had fallen,—Falkland fighting for the King, and Hampden fighting for the Parliament,—and other costliest blood been shed on the fields of Edgehill, Newbury, Marston Moor, and Naseby, when the ambitious Cardinal, wishing to serve the King, promised, as Clarendon relates, “to press the Parliament so imperiously, and to denounce a war against them, if they refused to yield to what was reasonable.”[58] For this important service he selected the famous Pomponne de Bellièvre, of a family tried in public duties,—himself President of the Parliament of Paris and peer of France,—conspicuous in personal qualities as in place, whose beautiful head, preserved by the graver of Nanteuil, is illustrious in Art, and whose dying charity lives still in the great hospital of the Hôtel Dieu, at Paris. Arriving at London, the graceful ambassador presented himself to that Long Parliament which knew so well how to guard English rights. At once every overture was rejected in formal proceedings, from which I copy these words: “We do declare that we ourselves have been careful to improve all occasions to compose these unhappy troubles, yet we have not, neither can we, admit of any mediation or interposing betwixt the King and us by any foreign prince or state. And we desire that his Majesty, the French King, will rest satisfied with this our resolution and answer.”[59] On the committee which drew this reply was John Selden, unsurpassed for learning and ability in the whole splendid history of the English bar, in every book of whose library was written, “Before everything, Liberty,” and also that Harry Vane whom Milton, in one of his most inspired sonnets, addresses as
“Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old,
Than whom a better Senator ne’er held
The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled
The fierce Epirot and the African bold.”
The answer of such men is a precedent for us, especially should England, taking up the rejected policy of Mazarin, presumptuously send any ambassador to stay the Republic in its war with Slavery.
The same heart of oak, so strenuous to repel intervention of France between King and Parliament, was not less strenuous the other way, when intervention could serve the rights of England or the principles of religious liberty. Such was England when ruled by the great Protector, called in his own day “chief of men.” No nation so powerful as to be exempt from that irresistible intercession, where, beneath the garb of peace, was a gleam of arms. From France, even under the rule of Mazarin, he claimed respect for the Protestant name, which he insisted upon making great and glorious. From Spain, on whose extended empire the sun did not cease to shine, he required that no Englishman should be subject to the Inquisition. Reading to his Council a despatch from Admiral Blake, announcing justice obtained from the Viceroy of Malaga, Cromwell said, that “he hoped to make the name of Englishman as great as ever that of Roman had been.”[60] In this same exalted mood he turned to propose mediation between Protestant Sweden and Protestant Bremen, “chiefly bewailing, that, being both his friends, they should so despitefully combat one against another,” offering his assistance to “a commodious accommodation on both sides,” and exhorting them “by no means to refuse any honest conditions of reconciliation.”[61] Here was intervention between nation and nation; but it was soon followed by intervention in the internal affairs of a distant country, which of all the acts of Cromwell is the most touching and sublime. The French ambassador, while at Whitehall, urging the signature of a treaty, was unexpectedly interrupted by news from a secluded valley of the Alps, far away among mountain torrents, affluents of the Po, that a company of pious Protestants, for centuries gathered there, keeping the truth pure, “when all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,” were suffering terrible persecution from their sovereign, Emanuel of Savoy. Despoiled of all possessions and liberties, brutally driven from their homes, given over to licentious and infuriate violence, and then turning in self-defence, they had been “slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled mother with infant down the rocks”; and it was reported that French troops took part in the dismal transaction. The Protector heard the story, and his pity flashed into anger. He would not sign the treaty until France united with him in securing justice to these humble sufferers, whom he called the Lord’s people. For their relief he contributed out of his own purse two thousand pounds, and authorized a general collection throughout England, which reached a large sum; but besides money, he set apart a day of humiliation and prayer for them. Nor was this all. “I should be glad,” wrote his Secretary, Thurloe, “to have a most particular account of that business, and to know what is become of those poor people, for whom our very souls here do bleed.”[62] But a pen mightier than that of any plodding secretary was enlisted in this pious intervention. It was John Milton, glowing with that indignation which his sonnet “On the Massacre in Piemont” makes immortal in the heart of man, who wrote the magnificent despatches, where the English nation of that day, after declaring itself “linked together” with its distant brethren, “not only by the same tie of humanity, but by joint communion of the same religion,” naturally and grandly insisted that “both this edict and whatsoever may be decreed to their disturbance upon the account of the Reformed Religion” should be abrogated, “and that an end be put to their oppressions.”[63] Not content with this call upon the Duke of Savoy, the Protector appealed to Louis the Fourteenth and his Cardinal Minister, to the States General of Holland, the Protestant Cantons of Switzerland, the King of Denmark, the King of Sweden, and even to the Protestant Reformed Prince of remote Transylvania,—and always by the pen of Milton,—rallying these princes and powers in joint entreaty and intervention, and, if need were, to “some other course to be speedily taken, that such a numerous multitude of our innocent brethren may not miserably perish for want of succor and assistance.”[64] The Regent of Savoy, daughter of Henry the Fourth, professed to be affected by this English charity, and announced for her Protestant subjects a free pardon, and also “such privileges and graces as could not but give the Lord Protector a sufficient evidence how great a respect they bare both to his person and mediation.”[65] But there was still delay. Meanwhile Cromwell began to inquire where in the Prince’s territories English troops might debark, and Mazarin, anxious to complete the yet unfinished treaty, joined in requiring immediate pacification of the Valleys and the restoration of these persecuted people to their ancient liberties. It was done. Such is the grandest intervention of English history, inspired by Milton, enforced by Cromwell, and sustained by Louis the Fourteenth with his Cardinal Minister by his side, while foreign nations watched the scene.
This great instance, constituting an inseparable part of the Protector’s glory, is not the last where England intervened for Protestant liberties. Troubles, beginning in France with the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, broke forth in the rebellion of the Camisards, smarting under the Revocation. Sheltered by the mountains of the Cevennes, and nerved by a good cause, with the device “Liberty of Conscience” on their standards, they made head against two successive marshals of France, and perplexed the old age of Louis the Fourteenth, whose arms were already enfeebled by foreign war. At last, through the mediation of England, the great monarch made terms with his Protestant rebels, and this civil war was brought to a close.[66]
Intervention, more often armed than unarmed, showed itself in the middle of the last century. All decency was set aside, when Frederick of Prussia, Catharine of Russia, and Maria Theresa of Austria invaded and partitioned Poland, under pretext of suppressing anarchy. Here was intervention with a vengeance, and on the side of arbitrary power. Such is human inconsistency, almost at the same time was another intervention in the opposite direction. It was the armed intervention of France, followed by that of Spain and Holland, in behalf of American Independence. Spain began by offer of mediation with a truce, which was accepted by France on condition that meanwhile the United States should be independent in fact.[67] Then came, in 1788, the armed intervention of Prussia to sustain the Orange faction in Holland, followed soon by the compact between Great Britain, Prussia, and Holland, known as the Triple Alliance, which entered upon the business of its copartnership by armed intervention to reconcile the insurgent provinces of Belgium with the German Emperor and their ancient Constitution. As France began to shake with domestic troubles, mediation in her affairs was proposed. Among the papers of Burke, in 1791, is the draught of a memorial, in the name of the British Government, offering what he calls “this healing mediation.”[68] Then came the vast coalition for armed intervention in France to put down the Republic. This dreary cloud was for a moment brightened by a British attempt in Parliament, through successive debates, to institute an intercession for Lafayette, immured in the dungeons of European despotism. “It is reported,” said one of the orators, “that America has solicited the liberation of her unfortunate adopted fellow-citizen.… Let British magnanimity be called to the aid of American gratitude, and exhibit to mankind a noble proof, that, wherever the principles of genuine liberty prevail, they never fail to inspire sentiments of generosity, feelings of humanity, and a detestation of oppression.”[69]
Meanwhile France, against whom all Europe intervened, played her part of intervention, and the scene was Switzerland. In the unhappy disputes between the aristocratic and democratic parties by which this Republic was distracted, French mediation became chronic, beginning in 1738, when it found partial apology in the invitation of several cantons and of Geneva; occurring again in 1768, and again in 1782. The mountain Republic, breathing the air of Freedom, was naturally moved by the convulsions of the French Revolution. Civil war ensued, and grew in bitterness. At last, when France herself was composed under the powerful arm of the First Consul, we find him turning to compose Swiss troubles. He was a military ruler, and always acted under the instincts of military power. By proclamation, dated at the palace of St. Cloud, September 30, 1802, Bonaparte declared that for three years the Swiss had been slaying each other, and that, if left to themselves, they would continue to slay each other for three years more, without reaching any understanding; that, at first, he had resolved not to interfere, but that he now changed his mind, and announced himself as mediator of their difficulties, proclaiming confidently that his mediation would be efficacious, as became the great people in whose name he spoke. Deputies from the cantons, together with the chief citizens, were summoned to declare the means of restoring the Union, securing peace, and reconciling all parties.[70] This was armed mediation; but Switzerland was weak and France strong, while the declared object was union, peace, and reconciliation. I know not if all this ensued, but the civil war was stifled, and the Constitution was established by what is entitled in history the Act of Mediation.
From that period down to the present moment, intervention in the internal affairs of other nations has been a prevailing practice, now cautiously and peaceably, now offensively and forcibly. Sometimes it was against the rights of men, sometimes it was in their favor. Sometimes England and France stood aloof, sometimes they took part. The Congress of Vienna, which undertook to settle the map of Europe, organized universal and perpetual intervention in the interest of monarchical institutions and existing dynasties. This compact was renewed at the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818, with the explanatory declaration, that the five great powers would never assume jurisdiction over questions concerning the rights and interests of another power, except at its request, and without inviting such power to take part in the conference,—a concession obviously adverse to any liberal movement. Meanwhile appeared the Holy Alliance, specially to watch and control the revolutionary tendencies of the age; but into this combination England most honorably declined to enter. The other powers were sufficiently active. Austria, Russia, and Prussia did not hesitate at the Congress of Laybach, in 1821, to institute armed intervention for the suppression of liberal principles in Naples; and again, two years later, at the Congress of Verona, these same powers, together with France, instituted another armed intervention to suppress liberal principles in Spain, which ultimately led to the invasion of that kingdom and the overthrow of its Constitution. France was the belligerent agent, and would not be turned aside, although the Duke of Wellington at Verona, and Mr. Canning at home, sought to arrest her armies by the mediation of Great Britain, which was directly sought by Spain and directly refused by France. The British Government, in admirable letters, composed with unsurpassed skill, and constituting a noble page of International Law, “disclaimed for itself, and denied for other powers, the right of requiring any changes in the internal institutions of independent states, with the menace of hostile attack in case of refusal”; and bravely declared to the imperial and royal interventionists, that, “so long as the struggles and disturbances of Spain should be confined within the circle of her own territory, they could not be admitted by the British Government to afford any plea of foreign interference”; and in still another note repeated that a “menace of direct and imminent danger could alone, in exception to the general rule, justify foreign interference.”[71] These were the words of Mr. Canning; but even Lord Castlereagh, in an earlier note, asserted the same limitation, which, at a later day, had the unqualified support of Lord Grey, and also of Lord Aberdeen. Justly interpreted, they leave no apology for armed intervention, except in case of direct and imminent danger, when a nation, like an individual, may be thrown upon the great right of self-defence.
Great Britain bore testimony by what she did, as well as by what she refused to do. Even while resisting the armed intervention of the great conspiracy, her Government intervened sometimes by mediation and sometimes by arms. Early in the contest between Spain and her colonies she consented to act as mediator, on the invitation of the former, in hope of effecting reconciliation; but Spain declined the mediation she had invited. From 1812 to 1823, Great Britain constantly repeated her offer. In the case of Portugal she went further. Under the counsels of Mr. Canning, whose speech on the occasion was of the most memorable character, she intervened by landing troops at Lisbon; but this intervention was vindicated by the obligations of treaty. Next came the greater instance of Greece, when the Christian powers of Europe intervened to arrest a protracted struggle and to save this classic land from Turkish tyranny. Here the first step was a pressing invitation from the Greeks to the British and French Governments for their mediation with the Ottoman Porte. These powers united with Russia in proffering the much desired intervention, which the Greeks at once accepted and the Turks rejected. Already battle raged fiercely, reddened by barbarous massacre. Without delay, the allied forces were directed to compel the cessation of hostilities, which was accomplished by the destruction of the Turkish fleet at Navarino and the occupation of the Morea by French troops. At last, under the continued mediation of these powers, the independence of Greece was recognized by the Ottoman Porte, and another commonwealth consecrated to Freedom took its place in the Family of Nations. But mediation in Turkish affairs did not stop. The example of Greece was followed by Egypt, whose provincial chief, Mehemet Ali, rebelled, and by genius for war succeeded in dispossessing the Ottoman Porte not only of Egypt, but of other possessions also. This civil war was first arrested by temporary arrangement at Kutaieh, in 1833, under the mediation of Great Britain and France, and finally ended by an armed mediation in 1840, when, after elaborate and irritating discussions threatening to involve Europe, a treaty was concluded at London between Great Britain, Russia, Austria, and Prussia, by which the Pacha was compelled to relinquish his conquests, while he was secured in the Government of Egypt as perpetual vassal of the Porte. France, dissatisfied with the terms of this adjustment, stood aloof from the treaty, which found apology, such as it had, first, in the invitation of the Sultan, and, secondly, in the desire to preserve the integrity of the Turkish Empire, as essential to the balance of power and the peace of Europe, to which may also be added the desire to stop effusion of blood.
Before the Eastern questions were settled, other complications commenced in Western Europe. Belgium, restless from the French Revolution of 1830, rose against the House of Orange and claimed independence. Civil war ensued; but the great powers promptly intervened, even to the extent of arresting a Dutch army on its march. Beginning with armistice, there was a long and fine-spun negotiation, which, assuming the guise alternately of pacific mediation and of armed intervention, ended in the established separation of Belgium from Holland, and its recognition as an independent nation. Do you ask why Great Britain intervened on this occasion? Lord John Russell, in the course of debate at a subsequent day, declared that a special motive was “the establishment of a free constitution.”[72] Meanwhile the Peninsula of Spain and Portugal was torn by civil war. The regents of these two kingdoms respectively appealed to Great Britain and France for aid, especially in the expulsion of the pretender Don Carlos from Spain and the pretender Dom Miguel from Portugal. For this purpose the Quadruple Alliance was formed in 1834. The moral support from this treaty is said to have been important, but Great Britain was compelled to provide troops. This intervention, however, was at the solicitation of the actual Governments. Even after Spanish troubles were settled, war still lingered in the sister kingdom, when, in 1847, the Queen addressed herself to her allies, among whom was Great Britain, the ancient patron of Portugal, who undertook to mediate between her and her insurgent subjects, in the declared hope of composing the difficulties “in a just and permanent manner, with all due regard to the dignity of the crown on the one hand, and to the constitutional liberties of the nation on the other.”[73] The insurgents did not submit until after military demonstrations. Liberty and Peace were the two watchwords.
Then occurred the European uprising of 1848, with France once more a Republic; but Europe, wiser grown, did not interfere even so much as to write a letter. The case was different with Hungary, whose victorious armies, radiant with Liberty regained, expelled the Austrian power only to be arrested by the armed intervention of the Russian Czar, who yielded to the double pressure of invitation from Austria and fear that successful insurrection might extend into Poland. It was left for France, in another country, with strange inconsistency, to play the part which Russia played in Hungary. Rome, after rising against the temporal power of the Pope and proclaiming the Republic, was occupied by a French army, which expelled the republican magistrates, and, though fourteen years are already passed since that unhappy act, the occupation still continues. From this military intervention Great Britain stands aloof. In a despatch, dated at London, January 28, 1849, Lord Palmerston makes a permanent record, to the honor of his country, as follows: “Her Majesty’s Government would, upon every account, and not only upon abstract principle, but with reference to the general interests of Europe, and from the value which they attach to the maintenance of peace, sincerely deprecate any attempt to settle the differences between the Pope and his subjects by the military interference of foreign powers.”[74] This statesman gives further point to the position of Great Britain in contrast with France, when he says: “Armed intervention to assist in retaining a bad Government would be unjustifiable.”[75] Such was the declaration of the Lord Palmerston of that day. How much more unjustifiable the strange assistance now proposed to found a bad Government! The British minister insisted that the differences should be accommodated by “the diplomatic interposition of friendly powers,” which he declared a “much better mode of settlement than an authoritative imposition of terms by the force of foreign arms.”[76] In harmony with this policy, Great Britain, during the same year, united with France in proffering mediation between the insurgent Sicilians and the King of Naples, the notorious Bomba, in the hope of helping good government and liberal principles. Not disheartened by rebuff, these two powers, in 1856, united in friendly remonstrance to the same tyrannical sovereign against the harsh system of political arrests, and against his cruelty to good citizens thrust without trial into the worst of prisons. The advice was indignantly rejected, and the two powers that gave it withdrew their ministers from Naples. The sympathy of Russia was on the wrong side, and Prince Gortschakoff, in a circular, while admitting, that, “as a consequence of friendly fore-thought, one Government might give advice to another,” declared, that “to endeavor by threats or a menacing demonstration to obtain from the King of Naples concessions in the internal affairs of his Government is a violent usurpation of his authority, and an open declaration of the right of the strong over the weak.”[77] This was practically answered by Lord Clarendon, speaking for Great Britain at the Congress of Paris, when, admitting the principle that no Government has the right to interfere in the internal affairs of other states, he declares that there are cases where an exception to this rule becomes equally a right and a duty; that peace must not be broken, but that there is no peace without justice; and that therefore the Congress must let the King of Naples know its desire for the amelioration of his Government, and must demand amnesty for political offenders suffering without trial.[78] This language was bold beyond the practice of diplomacy, but the intervention it proposed was on the side of humanity.
I must draw this chapter to a close, although the long list is not yet exhausted. Even while I speak, we hear of intervention by England and France in the civil war between the Emperor of China and his subjects,—and also in that other war between the Emperor of Russia on the one side and the Poles whom he claims as subjects on the other, but with this difference, that in China these powers take the part of the existing Government, while in Poland they intervene against the existing Government. In the face of positive declarations of neutrality, the British and French admirals have united their forces with the Chinese; but thus far in Poland, although there is no declaration of neutrality, the intervention is unarmed. In both these instances we witness a common tendency, directed, it may be, by the interests or prejudices of the time, and, so far as it has proceeded, it is, at least in Poland, on the side of liberal institutions. But, alas for human consistency! the French Emperor is now intervening in Mexico with armies and navies to build an imperial throne for an Austrian Archduke.
There is one long-continued British intervention, which speaks now with controlling power; and it is on this account that I reserve it for the close of what I have to say on this head. Though not without original shades of dark, it has for more than half a century been a shining example to the civilized world. I refer to that intervention against Slavery, which, from its first adoption, has been so constant and brilliant as to make us forget the earlier intervention in behalf of Slavery, when, for instance, at the Peace of Utrecht, Great Britain intervened to extort the detestable privilege of supplying slaves to Spanish America at the rate of four thousand eight hundred yearly during the space of thirty years, and then again, at the Peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, higgled for a yet longer sanction of the ignoble intervention; nay, it almost makes us forget the kindred intervention, at once sordid and criminal, by which this power counteracted all efforts for the prohibition of the slave-trade even in its own colonies, and thus helped to fasten Slavery upon Virginia and Carolina. The abolition of the slave-trade by Act of Parliament, in 1807, was the signal for a change of history. A British poet at the time gave exulting expression to the grandeur of the epoch:—
“‘Thy chains are broken, Africa, be free!’
Thus saith the island-empress of the sea;
Thus saith Britannia. O ye winds and waves,
Waft the glad tidings to the land of slaves!”[79]
Curiously, it was the other color which gained the first fruits of this revolution, by triumphant intervention for the overthrow of White Slavery in the Barbary States. The old hero of Acre, Sir Sidney Smith, released from long imprisonment in France, sought to organize a “holy league” for this purpose; the subject was discussed at the Congress of Vienna; and the agents of Spain and Portugal, anxious for the punishment of their piratical neighbors, argued, that, because Great Britain had abolished for itself the traffic in African slaves, therefore it must see that whites were no longer enslaved in the Barbary States. The argument was less logical than humane. But Great Britain undertook the work. With a fleet complete at all points, consisting of five line-of-battle ships, five frigates, four bomb-vessels, and five gun-brigs, Lord Exmouth approached Algiers, where he was joined by a considerable Dutch fleet, anxious to take part. “If force must be resorted to,” said the Admiral in general orders shortly before, “we have the consolation of knowing that we fight in the sacred cause of Humanity, and cannot fail of success.” Less than half a day was enough, with such a force in such a cause. The formidable castles of the great Slavemonger were battered to pieces, and he was compelled to sign a treaty, confirmed under a salute of twenty-one guns, which in its first article stipulated “the abolition of Christian Slavery forever.” Glorious and beneficent intervention! Not inferior to that renowned instance of Antiquity, where the Carthaginians were required to abolish the practice of sacrificing their own children,—a treaty which has been called the noblest of history, because stipulated in favor of human nature. The Admiral who had thus triumphed was hailed as Emancipator. He received a new rank in the peerage, and a new blazonry on his coat of arms. The rank is continued in his family, and on their shield, in perpetual memory of this great transaction, is still borne a Christian slave holding aloft the Cross and dropping his broken fetters. But the personal satisfactions of the Admiral were more than rank or heraldry. In his despatch to the Government, describing the battle, and written at the time, he says: “To have been one of the humble instruments in the hands of Divine Providence for bringing to reason a ferocious Government and destroying forever the insufferable and horrid system of Christian Slavery, can never cease to be a source of delight and heartfelt comfort to every individual happy enough to be employed in it.”[80]
I have said too much with regard to an instance, which, though beautiful and important, is only a parenthesis in the grander and more extensive intervention against African Slavery, which was already organizing, destined at last to embrace the whole human family. Even before Wilberforce triumphed in Parliament, Great Britain intervened with Napoleon, in 1806, pressing him to join in the abolition of the slave-trade; but he flatly refused. What France would not then yield was exacted from Portugal in 1810, from Sweden in 1813, and from Denmark in 1814. An ineffectual attempt was made to enlist Spain, even by temptation of pecuniary subsidies,—and an appeal was made to the restored monarch of France, Louis the Eighteenth, with the offer of a sum of money outright or the cession of a West India island, in consideration of the desired abolition. The Prince Regent wrote with his own hand to the latter, assuring him that he could not give a more acceptable proof of his regard than by consenting to the abolition. Had gratitude to a benefactor prevailed, these powers could not have resisted; but Lord Castlereagh confessed in the House of Commons, that in France there was distrust of the British Government “even among the better classes of people,” who thought that its zeal in this behalf was prompted by desire to injure the French colonies and commerce, rather than by benevolence. The British minister was more successful with Portugal, where pecuniary equivalents led to a supplementary treaty, in January, 1815. This was followed by the declaration of the Congress of Vienna, on motion of Lord Castlereagh, 8th February, 1815, denouncing the African slave-trade “as repugnant to the principles of humanity and of universal morality.” Meanwhile Napoleon returned from Elba, and what British intervention failed to accomplish with the Bourbon monarch, and the Emperor once flatly refused, was now spontaneously done by him, doubtless in the hope of conciliating British sentiment. His hundred days of power were signalized by an ordinance abolishing the slave-trade in France and her colonies. Louis the Eighteenth, once again restored by British arms, and with the shadow of Waterloo resting upon France, could not do less than ratify the imperial ordinance by a royal assurance that “the traffic was henceforth forever forbidden to all the subjects of his most Christian Majesty.”[81] Holland came under the same influence, and accepted the restitution of her colonies, except the Cape of Good Hope and Guiana, on condition of the entire abolition of the slave-trade in the restored colonies, and also everywhere else beneath her flag. Spain was the most indocile; but this proud monarchy, under whose auspices the African slave-trade first came into being, at last yielded. By the treaty of Madrid, of 23d September, 1817, extorted by Great Britain, it stipulated the immediate abolition of the trade north of the equator, and also, after 1820, its abolition everywhere, in consideration of four hundred thousand pounds, the price of Freedom, paid by the other contracting party. In vindication of this intervention, Wilberforce declared in Parliament, that “the grant to Spain would be more than repaid to Great Britain in commercial advantages by the opening of a great continent to British industry,”—all of which was impossible, if the slave-trade was allowed to continue under the Spanish flag.[82]
At the Congress of Aix-la-Chapelle, in 1818, and of Verona, in 1822, Great Britain continued her intervention against Slavery. Chateaubriand, in his history of the latter Congress, pauses to express his admiration of the “singular perseverance” in this cause manifested by her at all Congresses, amidst questions the most urgent and interests the most pressing.[83] Here her primacy was undisputed, and her fame complete. It was the common remark of Continental publicists, that she “made the cause her own.”[84] One of them portrays her vividly, since 1810 waging “relentless war” against the principle of the slave-trade, and by this “crusade,” undertaken in the name of Humanity, making herself the “declared protectress” of the African race. These are the words of a French authority.[85] According to him, it is nothing less than “relentless war” and a “crusade” which she has waged, and the position which she has achieved is that of “protectress” of the African race,—while no less a person than Chateaubriand recognizes with admiration the “singular perseverance” she has displayed in this practical extension of Christianity. Not content with imposing her magnanimous system upon the civilized world, she carried it among the tribes and chiefs of Africa, who, by her omnipresent intervention, were summoned to renounce a barbarous and criminal custom. By a Parliamentary Report, it appears that in 1849 there were twenty-four treaties in force between Great Britain and foreign civilized powers for the suppression of the slave-trade, and also forty-two similar treaties between Great Britain and native chiefs of Africa.[86]
This intervention was not by treaties only; it was by correspondence and circulars also. And here I approach a part of the subject which illustrates the vivacity of its character. All British ministers and consuls were so many pickets on constant guard in the outposts. They were held to every service by which the cause could be promoted, even to translating and printing documents against the slave-trade, especially in countries where, unhappily, it was still pursued. There was the Pope’s Bull of 1839, which Lord Palmerston transmitted for this purpose to his agents in Cuba, Brazil, and even in Turkey, some of whom were unsuccessful in their efforts to obtain its publication, although, curiously enough, it was published in Turkey.[87]
Such zeal could not stop at the abolition of the traffic. Accordingly, Great Britain, by Act of Parliament, in 1834, enfranchised all the slaves in her own possessions, and thus again secured to herself the primacy of a lofty cause. The intervention was now openly declared to be against Slavery itself, assuming its most positive character while Lord Palmerston was Foreign Secretary,—and I say this sincerely to his great honor. Throughout his long life, among all the various concerns in which he has acted, there is nothing to be remembered hereafter with such gratitude. By his untiring diplomacy her Majesty’s Government constituted itself a vast Abolition Society, with the whole world for its field. It was in no respect behind the famous World’s Convention against Slavery, held at London in June, 1840, with Thomas Clarkson, the pioneer Abolitionist, as President; for the strongest declarations of this Convention were adopted by Lord Palmerston as “the sentiments of her Majesty’s Government,” and communicated officially to British functionaries in foreign lands. The Convention declared “the utter injustice of Slavery in all its forms, and the evil it inflicts upon its miserable victims, and the necessity of employing every means, moral, religious, and pacific, for its complete abolition, an object most dear to the members of this Convention, and for the consummation of which they are especially assembled.”[88] These words became the words of the British Government, and in circular letters were sent over the world.
It was not enough to declare the true principles. They must be enforced. Spain and Portugal hung back. The Secretary of the Antislavery Society was sent “to endeavor to create in those countries a public feeling in favor of the abolition of Slavery”; and the British minister at Lisbon was desired by Lord Palmerston to “afford all the assistance and protection in his power for promoting the object of his journey.”[89] British functionaries abroad sometimes backslided. This was corrected by circulars setting forth “that it would be unfitting that any officer holding an appointment under the British Crown should, either directly or indirectly, hold or be interested in slave property.”[90] The Parliamentary Papers which attest the universality of this instruction show the completeness with which it was executed. The consul at Rio Janeiro, in slaveholding Brazil, had among his domestics three negro slaves, two men and a woman; “of the men one was a groom and the other a waiter, and the woman he was forced to hire to nurse one of his children”; but he discharged them at once, under the antislavery discipline of the British Foreign Office, and Lord Palmerston, in formal despatch, “expresses his satisfaction.”[91] In Cuba, at the time of its reception, there was not a single resident officer, holding under the British Crown, “who was entirely free from the charge of countenancing Slavery.” But only a few weeks afterwards it was officially reported from Havana that there was “not a single British officer residing within the consular jurisdiction who had not relinquished, or was not at least preparing to relinquish, this odious practice.”[92] This was quick work. The metamorphosis was prompt as anything in ancient fable. Every person holding office under the British Government at once set his face against Slavery, and the way was by having nothing to do with it, even in employing or hiring the slave of another,—nothing, “directly or indirectly”.
Lord Palmerston, acting in the name of the British Government, did not stop with changing British officials into practical Abolitionists, whenever they were in foreign countries. He sought to enlist other European Governments, and to this end requested them to forbid their functionaries residing in slaveholding communities to be interested in slave property or in any holding or hiring of slaves. Denmark for a moment hesitated, from unwillingness to debar them from acting according to the laws where they resided, when the minister at once cited in support of his request the example of Belgium, Hanover, Holland, Sweden, Naples, Portugal, and Sardinia, all without delay having yielded to this British intervention, and Denmark ranged herself in the list.[93] Nor was this indefatigable Propaganda confined to the Christian powers. With a sacred pertinacity it reached into distant Mohammedan regions, where Slavery was imbedded not only in the laws, but the habits, the social system, and the very life of the people, and called upon the Government to act against it. No impediment deterred,—no prejudice, national or religious. To the Shah of Persia, ruling a vast, outlying slave empire, Lord Palmerston announced the desire of the British Government “to see the slave-trade put down and the condition of Slavery abolished in every part of the world”; “that it conceived much good might be accomplished in these respects, even in Mohammedan countries, by steady perseverance, and by never omitting to take advantage of favorable opportunities”; and “that the Shah would be doing a thing extremely acceptable to the British Government and nation, if he would issue a decree prohibiting for the future the importation of slaves of any kind into Persia, and making it penal for a Persian to purchase slaves.”[94] To the Sultan of Turkey, whose mother was a slave, whose wives were all slaves, and whose very counsellors, generals, and admirals were originally slaves, he made a similar appeal, and he sought to win the dependent despot by reminding him that only in this way could he hope for that good-will which was so essential to his Government; “that the continued support of Great Britain will, for some years to come, be an object of importance to the Porte,—that this support cannot be given effectually, unless the sentiments and opinions of the majority of the British nation shall be favorable to the Turkish Government,—and that the whole of the British nation unanimously desire, beyond almost anything else, to put an end to the cruel practice of making slaves.”[95] Such, at that time, was the voice of the British people. Since Cromwell pleaded for the Vaudois, no nobler voice had gone forth. The World’s Convention against Slavery saw itself transfigured, while platform speeches were transfused into diplomatic notes. The Convention, earnest for Universal Emancipation, declared that “the friendly interposition of Great Britain could be employed for no nobler purpose,” and, as if to crown its work, in an address to Lord Palmerston, humbly and earnestly implored his Lordship to use his high authority for “connecting the overthrow of Slavery with the consolidation of Peace”; and these words were at once adopted in foreign despatches, as expressing the sentiments of her Majesty’s Government.[96] Better watchwords could not be, nor any more worthy of the British name. There can be no consolidation of Peace without the overthrow of Slavery. This is as true now as when first uttered. Therefore is Great Britain still bound to her original faith; nor can she abandon the cause, of which she was the declared protectress, without betrayal of Peace, as well as betrayal of Liberty.
Even now while I speak this same conspicuous fidelity to a sacred cause is announced. The ship canal across the Isthmus of Suez, first attempted by the early Pharaohs, and at last resumed by French influence, under the auspices of the Pacha, is most zealously opposed by Great Britain for the declared reason that in its construction “forced labor” is employed, which this power cannot in conscience sanction. Not even to complete this vast beneficence, bringing East and West near together, for which mankind has waited throughout long centuries, will Great Britain depart from the rule so gloriously declared. Slavery is wrong, therefore not to be employed. The canal must stop, if it cannot be constructed without “forced labor.”
The veteran statesman who did so much in this cause, weaving its golden thread into the tissue of his renown, dwelt on it with pride, and accepted for his country the primacy that had been awarded. Never, in his extended Parliamentary career, did Lord Palmerston rise to a higher mood,—not even when claiming for Englishmen all the immunities of Roman citizenship,—Civis Romanus sum,—than when he pictured the dependence of Africans on their constant friend. “If ever,” said he, “by the assault of overpowering enemies, or by the errors of her misguided sons, England should fall, and her star should lose its lustre, with her fall, for a long period of time, would the hopes of the African, whether in his own continent or in the vast regions of America, be buried in the darkness of despair. I know well that in such case Providence would in due course of time raise up some other nation to inherit our principles and to imitate our practice; but, taking the world as it is, and states as they are constituted, I do not know—and I say it with regret and with pain—I do not know any nation that is now ready in this respect to supply our place.”[97] And can it be that now, instead of the African, a rebellion inspired by Slavery turns to England with hope?
The honorable story of British intervention against Slavery is incomplete without showing how its generous ardor broke forth against our Republic, which was denounced as linked with Slavery. Literature, eloquence, and poetry lent themselves to expose the terrible inconsistency. Lord Russell stepped aside from the easy path of biography, to declare that among us “oxen and horses are better treated than the men and women of African blood,” and then to proclaim “the cry of outraged humanity,” “the current of human sympathy,” and “the decrees of Eternal Justice,” irresistible.[98] Lord Macaulay, in the House of Commons, thundered forth: “The Government of the United States has formally declared itself the patron, the champion, of Negro Slavery all over the world, the evil genius, the Arimanes, of the African race, and seems to take pride in this shameful and odious distinction.… They put themselves at the head of the slave-driving interest throughout the world, just as Elizabeth put herself at the head of the Protestant interest; and wherever their favorite institution is in danger, are ready to stand by it as Elizabeth stood by the Dutch.”[99] Thomas Campbell, fresh from writing “Ye Mariners of England” and “Hohenlinden,” struck at our Slavery in most scornful verses on the national flag:—
“But what’s the meaning of the stripes?
They mean your negroes’ scars!”[100]
If these things, so bitterly said, were true, if Campbell, Macaulay, and Russell were right in their indignant rebuke, if Palmerston was justified in his eloquent pride, then must England make haste to turn away from a rebellion which seeks to reverse that noble intervention where the liberty of the African was a constant guide.
Here I close the historic instances illustrating the right and practice of foreign intervention. The whole subject is seen in these instances, teaching clearly what to avoid and what to follow. In this way, the Law of Nations, like History, gives its best lessons. For the sake of plainness, I gather up some of the conclusions.
Foreign intervention is armed or unarmed, although sometimes the two are not easily distinguishable. Unarmed intervention may have in it the menace of arms, or it may be war in disguise. When this is the case, it must be treated accordingly.
Armed intervention is war, and nothing less. Of course it can be vindicated only as war, and it must be resisted as war. Believing, as I do most profoundly, that war can never be a game, but must always be a crime when it ceases to be a duty,—a crime to be shunned, if not a duty to be performed swiftly and surely,—and that a nation, like an individual, is not permitted to take the sword except in just self-defence,—I find the same limitation in armed intervention, which becomes unjust invasion in proportion as it departs from just self-defence. Under this head is naturally included all that intervention moved by a tyrannical or intermeddling spirit, because such intervention, whatever its professions, is essentially hostile,—as when Russia, Prussia, and Austria partitioned Poland, when the Holy Alliance intermeddled everywhere and menaced even America, or when Russia intervened to crush the independence of Hungary, or France to crush the Roman Republic. All such intervention is inexcusable, illegal, and scandalous. Its vindication is found only in the effrontery that might makes right.
Unarmed intervention is of a different nature. If sincerely unarmed, it may be regarded as obtrusive, but not hostile. It may assume the form of mediation or the proffer of good offices, at the invitation of both parties, or, in the case of civil war, at the invitation of the original authority. With such invitation, this intervention is proper and honorable; without such invitation, it is of doubtful character; but if known to be contrary to the desires of both parties, or to the desires of the original authority in a distracted country, it becomes offensive and inadmissible, unless obviously on the side of Human Rights, when the act of intervention takes its character from the cause in which it is made. But it must not be forgotten, that, in the case of civil war, any mediation, or, indeed, any proposition not enjoining submission to the original authority, is in its nature adverse, for it assumes the separate existence of the other party, and secures for it temporary immunity and opportunity, if not independence. Congress, therefore, was right in declaring to foreign powers that any renewed effort of mediation in our affairs will be regarded as an unfriendly act.
There is another case of unarmed intervention which I cannot criticize. It is where a nation intercedes or interposes in favor of Human Rights, or to secure the overthrow of some enormous wrong,—as when Cromwell pleaded, with noble intercession, for the secluded Protestants of the Alpine valleys, when Great Britain and France declared sympathy with the Greeks struggling for independence, and when Great Britain alone, by splendid diplomacy, set herself against Slavery everywhere throughout the world.
The full lesson may be summed up briefly. All intervention in the internal affairs of another nation is contrary to law and reason, and can be vindicated only by overruling necessity. Intervening by war, then must there be the necessity of self-defence. Intervening by mediation or intercession, then must you be able to speak in behalf of civilization endangered or human nature wronged. To this humane policy no power is bound so absolutely as England; especially is none so fixed, beyond possibility of retreat or change, in hostility to Slavery, whatever shape this criminal pretension may assume, whether the animating principle of a nation, the “forced labor” of a multitude, or even the service of a solitary domestic.
III.
There is a species of foreign intervention which stands by itself and has its own illustrations. Therefore I speak of it by itself. It is where a foreign power undertakes to acknowledge the independence of a colony or province renouncing its original allegiance, and it may be compendiously called Intervention by Recognition. Recognition is strictly applicable only to the act of the original government, renouncing all claim of allegiance, and at last acknowledging the independence in dispute. It becomes an act of intervention, where a foreign government steps between the two parties. The original government is so far master of its position, that it may select its own time in making this recognition. But the question arises, At what time and under what circumstances can this recognition be made by a foreign power? It is obvious that a recognition proper at one time and under special circumstances would not be proper at another time and under different circumstances. Mr. Canning said, with reference to Spanish America, that, “if he piqued himself upon anything, it was upon the subject of time”; and he added, that there were two ways of proceeding,—“recklessly and with a hurried course to the object, which might be soon reached and almost as soon lost, or by another course so strictly guarded that no principle was violated and no strict offence given to other powers.”[101] These are words of wise statesmanship, and they present the practical question occurring in every case of recognition: What condition of the controversy will justify such intervention?
Here again the whole matter is best explained by historic instances. The earliest is that of Switzerland, as long ago as 1307, breaking off from the House of Hapsburg, whose original cradle was a Swiss canton. But Austria did not acknowledge the independence of the Republic until the Peace of Westphalia, nearly three centuries and a half after the struggle began under William Tell. Meanwhile the cantons lived through the vicissitudes of war, foreign and domestic, and formed treaties with other powers, including the Pope. Before Swiss independence was acknowledged, the Dutch conflict began under William of Orange. Smarting from intolerable grievances, and with a price set upon the head of their illustrious Stadtholder, the United Provinces of the Netherlands, in 1581, renounced the tyrannical sovereignty of Philip the Second, and declared themselves independent. In the history of Freedom this is an important epoch. They were Protestants, battling for rights denied, and Queen Elizabeth of England, the head of Protestantism, acknowledged their independence, and shortly afterwards extended military aid. Nor did other powers stand aloof. In 1594, Scotland, Protestant also, under James the Sixth, afterwards the first James of England, treated with the insurgent Provinces as successors of the Houses of Burgundy and Austria, and in 1596 France entered into alliance with them. The contest continued, sustained on the side of Spain by the genius of Parma and Spinola, and on the side of the infant Republic by the youthful talent of Maurice, son of the great Stadtholder. But the claims of Spain were enduring; for it was not until the Peace of Westphalia, eighty years after the revolt, and nearly seventy years after their Declaration of Independence, that this power consented to Dutch independence. Nor do these examples stand alone, even at that early day. Portugal, unjustly subjugated by Spain in 1580, broke away in 1640 and declared herself independent, under the Duke of Braganza as King. A year scarcely passed before Charles the First of England negotiated a treaty with the new sovereign. The contest had ceased, but not the claim; for it was only after twenty-eight years that Spain made this other recognition.
Traversing the Atlantic Ocean in space and more than a century in time, I come to the next historic instance, so interesting to us all, while as a precedent it dominates the whole question. The long discord between the Colonies and the mother country broke forth in blood on the 19th of April, 1775. Independence was declared on the 4th of July, 1776. Battles ensued,—Trenton, Princeton, Brandywine, Germantown, Saratoga, followed by the winter of Valley Forge. The contest was yet undecided, when, on the 6th of February, 1778, France entered into a treaty of amity and commerce with the United States, containing, among other things, a recognition of their independence, with mutual stipulations between the two parties to protect the commerce of the other, by convoy on the ocean, “against all attacks, force, and violence”;[102] and on the 13th of March this treaty was communicated to the British Government by the French ambassador at London, with a diplomatic note, in which the United States are described as “in full possession of the independence pronounced by their Act of 4th July, 1776,” and the British Government is warned that the King of France, “being determined effectually to protect the legitimate freedom of the commerce of his subjects and to maintain the honor of his flag, has taken in consequence some eventual measures with the United States of North America.”[103] A further treaty of alliance, whose declared object was the maintenance of the independence of the United States, had been signed on the same day, but this was not communicated; nor is there evidence that it was known to the British Government at the time. The communication of the other sufficed, for it was an open recognition of the new power, with promise of protection on the ocean, while the war was yet flagrant between the two parties. As such it must be regarded as an armed recognition, constituting in itself a belligerent act, aggravated and explained by the circumstances under which it was made, the warning, in the nature of menace, by which it was accompanied, the clandestine preparations by which it was preceded, and the corsairs to cruise against British commerce, which for some time had been allowed to swarm under the American flag from French ports. It was so accepted by the British Government. The British minister was summarily withdrawn from Paris, all French vessels in British harbors were seized, and on the 17th March a message from the King was brought down to Parliament in the nature of a declaration of war against France. In this declaration there was no allusion to anything but the treaty of amity and commerce officially communicated by the French ambassador, which was denounced by his Majesty as an “unprovoked and unjust aggression on the honor of his crown and the essential interests of his kingdoms, contrary to the most solemn assurances, subversive of the Law of Nations, and injurious to the rights of every sovereign power in Europe.” Only three days later, on the 20th March, the Commissioners of the United States were received by the King of France in solemn audience, with all the pomp and ceremony accorded by the Court of Versailles to the representatives of sovereign powers. War ensued between France and Great Britain on land and sea, in which Holland and Spain afterwards took part against Great Britain. With such allies, a just cause prevailed. Great Britain, by provisional articles, signed at Paris 30th November, 1782, acknowledged the United States “to be free, sovereign, and independent,” and declared the boundaries thereof.
Colonial independence was contagious, and the contest for it presented another illustration, more discussed, and constituting a precedent, if possible, more interesting still. This was when the Spanish colonies in America, following the Northern example, broke away from the mother country and declared themselves independent. The contest began as early as 1810, but it was long continued, and extended over an immense region,—from New Mexico and California in the North to Cape Horn in the South,—washed by two vast oceans, traversed by mighty rivers, and buttressed by lofty mountains fruitful in silver, capped with snow, and shooting volcanic fire. At last the United States, satisfied that the ancient power of Spain had ceased to exist beyond reasonable chance of restoration, and that the contest was practically ended, acknowledged the independence of Mexico and five other provinces. This act was approached only after frequent debate in Congress, where Henry Clay took an eminent part, and after most careful consideration in the Cabinet, where John Quincy Adams, as Secretary of State, shed upon the question all the light of his unsurpassed knowledge, derived from long practice as well as from laborious study of International Law. This judgment must be regarded as a sufficient authority. President Monroe, in a special message, on the 8th of March, 1822, twelve years after the war began, called the attention of Congress to the state of the contest, which he said had “now reached such a stage, and been attended with such decisive success on the part of the provinces, that it merits the most profound consideration whether their right to the rank of independent nations, with all the advantages incident to it in their intercourse with the United States, is not complete.” After setting forth the de facto condition of things, he proceeded: “Thus it is manifest that all those provinces are not only in the full enjoyment of their independence, but, considering the state of the war and other circumstances, that there is not the most remote prospect of their being deprived of it.” In proposing their recognition, the President declared that it was done “under a thorough conviction that it is in strict accord with the Law of Nations”; and further, that “it is not contemplated to change thereby, in the slightest manner, our friendly relations with either of the parties.” In accordance with this recommendation, Congress authorized the recognition. Three years later the same thing was done by Great Britain, after much debate, diplomatic and Parliamentary. No case of international duty has been illustrated by a clearer eloquence, an ampler knowledge, or a purer wisdom. The despatches were written by Mr. Canning, and upheld by him in Parliament; but Lord Liverpool took part in the discussion, succinctly declaring “that there could be no right to recognition while the contest was actually going on,”[104]—a conclusion cautiously, but strongly, enforced by Lord Lansdowne, and nobly vindicated, in an oration reviewing the whole subject, by that great publicist, Sir James Mackintosh. All inclined to recognition, but admitted that it could not take place so long as the contest continued,—and that there must be “such a contest as exhibits some equality of force, and of which, if the combatants were left to themselves, the issue would be in some degree doubtful.” The Spanish strength throughout the whole continent was reduced to a single castle in Mexico, an island on the coast of Chile, and a small army in Upper Peru, while in Buenos Ayres no Spanish soldier had set foot for fourteen years. “Is this a contest,” said Mackintosh, “approaching to equality? Is it sufficient to render the independence of such a country doubtful? Does it deserve the name of a contest?”[105] It was not until 1825 that Great Britain was so far satisfied as to acknowledge this independence. France followed in 1830, and Castilian pride relaxed in 1836, twenty-six years from the first date of the contest.
The next instance is Greece, which declared independence January 27, 1822. After a cruel contest of more than five years, with alternate success and disaster, the great powers intervened forcibly in 1827; but the final recognition was postponed till May, 1832. Then came the instance of Belgium, which declared independence in November, 1830, and was promptly recognized by the great powers intervening for this purpose. The last instance is Texas, which declared independence in December, 1835, and defeated the Mexican army under Santa Aña, making him prisoner, in 1836. The power of Mexico seemed to be overthrown; but Andrew Jackson, then President of the United States, in his Message of December 21, 1836, laid down the rule of caution and justice, as follows: “The acknowledgment of a new state as independent and entitled to a place in the Family of Nations is at all times an act of great delicacy and responsibility, but more especially so when such state has forcibly separated itself from another, of which it had formed an integral part, and which still claims dominion over it. A premature recognition under these circumstances, if not looked upon as justifiable cause of war, is always liable to be regarded as a proof of an unfriendly spirit.” And he concluded by proposing that our country should “stand aloof” until the question was decided “beyond cavil or dispute.” During the next year, when the contest had practically ceased and only the claim remained, this new power was acknowledged by the United States, who were followed in 1839 by France, and in 1840 by Great Britain, Holland, and Belgium. Texas was annexed to the United States in 1845; but at this time Mexico had not joined in the general recognition.
Such are historic instances illustrating Intervention by Recognition. As in other cases of intervention, the recognition may be armed or unarmed, with an intermediate case, where the recognition may seem unarmed, when in reality it is armed,—as when France simply announced recognition of the independence of the United States and at the same time prepared to maintain it by war.
Armed recognition is simply Recognition by Coercion. It is a belligerent act, constituting war, and can be vindicated only as war. No nation will undertake it, unless ready to assume all the responsibilities of war,—as in the recent cases of Greece and Belgium, not to mention the recognition of the United States by France. But an attempt, under guise of recognition, to coerce the dismemberment or partition of a country is in its nature offensive beyond ordinary war, especially when the country to be sacrificed is a republic, and the plotters against it are crowned heads. Proceeding from the consciousness of brute power, such an attempt is an insult to mankind. If armed recognition at any time can find apology, it is only where sincerely made for the protection of Human Rights. It would be hard to condemn that intervention which saved Greece to Freedom.
Unarmed recognition is where a foreign power acknowledges in some pacific form the independence of a colony or province against the claim of its original government. Although excluding all idea of coercion, yet it cannot be uniformly justified.
Here we are brought to that question of “time,” on which Mr. Canning so pointedly piqued himself, and to which President Jackson referred, when he suggested that “a premature recognition” might be “looked upon as justifiable cause of war.” Nothing is more clear than that recognition may be favored at one time, while it must be rejected at another. So far as it assumes to determine rights instead of facts, or to anticipate the result of a contest, it is wrongful. No nation can undertake to sit in judgment on the rights of another nation without its consent. Therefore it cannot declare that de jure a colony or province is entitled to independence, but, from the necessity of the case, and that international intercourse may not fail, it must ascertain the facts, carefully and wisely, and, on the actual evidence, it may declare that de facto the colony or province appears to be in possession of independence,—which means, first, that the original government is dispossessed beyond the possibility of recovery, and, secondly, that the new government has achieved a reasonable stability, with fixed limits, giving assurance of solid power. All this is simply fact and nothing more. But just in proportion as a foreign nation anticipates the fact, or imagines the fact, or substitutes its own passions for the fact, it transcends the well-defined bounds of International Law. Without the fact of independence, positive and fixed, there is nothing but a claim. Now nothing is clearer than, that, while the terrible litigation is still pending, and the trial by battle, to which appeal is made, remains undecided, the fact of independence cannot exist. There is only a paper independence, which, though reddened with blood, is no better than a paper empire or a paper blockade; and any pretended recognition of it is a wrongful intervention, inconsistent with just neutrality, since the obvious effect must be to encourage the insurgent party. Such has been the declared judgment of our country, and its practice, even under circumstances tempting in another direction; and such, also, was the declared judgment and practice of Great Britain with reference to Spanish America.
The conclusion, then, is clear. To justify recognition, it must appear beyond doubt that de facto the contest is finished, and that de facto the new government is established secure within fixed limits. These are conditions precedent, not to be avoided without open offence to a friendly power, and open violation of that International Law which is the guardian of the world’s peace, even if there be not another condition precedent which civilization in this age will require.
Do you ask now if foreign powers can acknowledge our Rebel embryo as an independent nation? There is madness in the thought. Recognition accompanied by the breaking of the blockade would be war, impious war, against the United States, where Slavemongers would be the allies and Slavery the inspiration. Of all wars in history, none more accursed, none more sure to draw down upon its authors the judgment alike of God and man. But the thought of recognition, under existing circumstances, while the contest is still pending, even without any breaking of the blockade or attempted coercion, is a Satanic absurdity, hardly less impious than the other. It would assume unblushingly, that, already Rebel Slavery had succeeded in establishing an independent nation with an untroubled government and a secure conformation of territory, when, in fact, nothing is established, nothing untroubled, nothing secure, not even a single boundary-line, and there is no element of independence except the audacious attempt,—when, in fact, the conflict is still waged on numerous battle-fields, and these pretenders to independence have been driven from State to State, driven away from the Mississippi which parts them, driven back from the sea which surrounds them, and shut up in the interior or in blockaded ports, so that only by stealth can they communicate with the outward world. Any recognition of such a pretension, existing only as pretension, scouted and denied by a whole people with invincible armies and navies embattled against it, would be a mockery of truth. It would assert independence as a fact, when notoriously it was not a fact. It would be an enormous lie. Naturally a power thus guilty would expect to support the lie by arms.
IV.
I do not content myself with a single objection to this outrageous consummation. There is another, of a different nature. Assuming, for the moment, what I glory to believe can never happen, that the new Slave Power has become independent in fact, while the national flag has sunk away exhausted in the contest, there is one objection which, in an age of Christian light, thank God, cannot be overcome, unless, after solemn covenants branding Slavery, the great powers shall forget their vows, while England, the declared protectress of the African race, and France, the declared champion of “ideas,” both break away from the irresistible logic of their history, and turn their backs upon the past. Vain is honor, vain is human confidence, if these nations, at a moment of high duty, can thus ignobly fail. “Renown and grace is dead.” Like the other objection, this is of fact also,—for it is founded on the character of the pretension claiming recognition, which constitutes fact. Perhaps it may be said that it is a question of policy; but it is of policy which ought to be beyond debate, if such fact be established. Something more is necessary than that the new power shall be de facto independent. De facto it must be fit for independence; and, from the nature of the case, every nation will judge of this fitness in fact. Undertaking to acknowledge a new power, you proclaim its fitness for welcome and association in the Family of Nations. Can England gazette such a proclamation, elevating the whippers of women and sellers of children? Can France permit Louis Napoleon to do the same?
Here, on the threshold of this inquiry, the true state of the question must not be forgotten. It is not whether old and existing relations shall be continued with a power permitting Slavery, but whether relations shall be commenced with a new power, not merely permitting Slavery, but building its whole intolerable pretension upon this Barbarism. “No new Slave State” is a watchword with which we are familiar in our domestic history; but even such cry does not reveal the full opposition to the new revolt against Civilization,—for, even if disposed to admit a new Slave State, there must be, among men who have not yet lost all sense of decency, undying resistance to the admission of a new Slave Power with such an unquestioned origin and such an unquestioned purpose as that which now flaunts in piracy and blood before the civilized world, seeking recognition for its criminal chimera. Here is nothing for nice casuistry. Duty is plain as the moral law or the multiplication table.
Look for a moment at the unprecedented character of this pretension. A President known to be against the extension of Slavery was duly elected by the people in the autumn of 1860. This was all. He had not entered upon his duties. But the apostolic Slavemongers saw that Slavery at home must suffer under the popular judgment against its extension; they saw that a vote against its extension was a vote for its condemnation; and they rebelled. Under this wicked inspiration, State after State pretended to withdraw from the Union, and to construct a new Confederacy, whose “corner-stone” was Slavery. A Constitution was adopted, declaring these words: (1.) “No law denying or impairing the right of property in negro slaves shall be passed”[106]; and (2.) “In all territory belonging to the Confederate States, lying without the limits of the several States, the institution of Negro Slavery, as it now exists in the Confederate States, shall be recognized and protected by Congress and by the Territorial Government.”[107] Do not start. These are the authentic words of the text. You will find them in the Rebel Constitution.
Such was the unalterable fabric of the new government. Nor was there any doubt or hesitation in proclaiming its distinctive character. Its Vice-President, Mr. Stephens, thus far remarked for moderation on Slavery, as if smitten with diabolic light, undertook to explain and vindicate the new Magna Charta. His words are familiar, but they cannot be omitted in a complete statement of the case. “The new Constitution,” he said, “has put at rest forever all the agitating questions relating to our peculiar institution, African Slavery, as it exists among us,” which he proceeds to declare “was the immediate cause of the late rupture and present revolution.” The Vice-President announced unequivocally the change that had taken place. Admitting it was “the prevailing idea of most of the leading statesmen at the time of the formation of the old Constitution that the enslavement of the African was in violation of the Laws of Nature, that it was wrong in principle, socially, morally, and politically,” he denounces this idea as “fundamentally wrong,” and proclaims the new government “founded upon exactly the opposite idea.” Here is no disguise. “Its foundations,” he avows, “are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man,—that Slavery, subordination to the superior race, is his natural and normal condition.” Not content with exhibiting the untried foundation, he boastfully claims for the new government priority of invention. “This our new government,” he vaunts, “is the first in the history of the world based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth.… This stone, which was rejected by the first builders, ‘is become the chief stone of the corner.’” And then, as if priority of invention were not enough, he proceeds to claim for the new government future supremacy, saying that it is already “the nucleus of a growing power, which, if we are true to ourselves, our destiny, and our high mission, will become the controlling power on this continent.”[108]
Since Satan first declared the “corner-stone” of his new government, and openly denounced the Almighty Throne, there has been no blasphemy of equal audacity. In human history nothing but itself can be its parallel. The gauntlet is thrown down to heaven and earth, while a disgusting Barbarism is proclaimed as the new Civilization. Here is a new method, a novum organum, to usher in the world’s future. Two years are already passed,—but, as the Rebellion began, so is it now. A Governor of South Carolina, in a message to the Legislature, as late as 3d April, 1863, takes up the boastful strain, and congratulates the Rebel Slavemongers that they are “a refined, cultivated, and enlightened people,” and that the new government is “the finest type that the world ever beheld.”[109] God save the mark! Such, doubtless, was the speech of the African tyrant, as he sat in state on the prostrate bodies of his subjects and rejoiced in this manifestation of power. A leading journal, more than any other the organ of the Slavemongers, repeats the original vaunt with more than the original brutality. After dwelling on “the grand career and lofty destiny” before the new government, the “Richmond Examiner” of 28th May, 1863, proceeds as follows. “Would that all of us understood and laid to heart the true nature of that career and that destiny, and the responsibility it imposes. The establishment of the Confederacy is, verily, a distinct reaction against the whole course of the mistaken civilization of the age. For Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity we have deliberately substituted Slavery, Subordination, and Government. Reverently we feel that our Confederacy is a God-sent missionary to the nations, with great truths to preach. We must speak thus boldly; but ‘whoso hath ears to hear, let him hear.’” This God-sent missionary to the nations it is now proposed to welcome at the household hearth of the civilized world.
Unhappily, there are old nations already in the family still tolerating Slavery; but now, for the first time, a new nation claims admission there, which not only tolerates Slavery, but, exulting in its shame, strives to reverse the judgment of mankind, making this outrage its chief support and glory, so that all recognition of the new power will be recognition of a sacrilegious pretension,
“With one vast blood-stone for the mighty base.”
Elsewhere Slavery has been an accident; here it is the principal. Elsewhere it has been an instrument only; here it is the inspiration. Elsewhere it has been kept back in becoming modesty; here it is pushed forward in all its brutish nakedness. Elsewhere it has claimed nothing but liberty to live; here it claims license to rule, with unbounded empire at home and abroad. Look at this candidate power in its whole continued existence, from Alpha to Omega, and it is nothing but Slavery. Its origin is Slavery, its mainspring is Slavery, its object is Slavery. Wherever it appears, whatever it does, whatever form it takes, it is Slavery and nothing else; so that, with the agonizing despair of Satan, it might cry out:—
“Me miserable! which way shall I fly
Infinite wrath and infinite despair?
Which way I fly is Hell; myself am Hell.”
The Rebellion is Slavery in arms, Slavery on horseback, Slavery on foot, Slavery raging on the battle-field, Slavery savage on the quarter-deck, robbing, destroying, burning, killing, to uphold this candidate power. Its legislation is simply Slavery in statutes, Slavery in chapters, Slavery in sections, with an enacting clause. Its diplomacy is Slavery in pretended ambassadors, Slavery in cunning letters, Slavery in cozening promises, Slavery in persistent negotiation,—all to secure for the candidate power its much desired welcome. Say what you will, try to avoid it, if you can, you are compelled to admit that the candidate power is nothing else than organized Slavery, now, in its madness, surrounded by its criminal clan, and led by its felon chieftains, braving the civilization of the age. Any recognition of Slavery is bad enough; but this will be recognition with welcome and benediction, imparting new consideration and respectability, and, worse still, securing new opportunity and foothold for the supremacy it openly proclaims.
In ancient days the candidate was robed in white, while at the Capitol and in the Forum he canvassed the people for their votes. The candidate nation, unashamed of Slavery, should be robed in black, while it conducts the great canvass, and asks the votes of the Christian powers. “Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night,” as the outrage proceeds; for the candidate gravely asks international recognition of the claim to hold property in man, to sell wife away from husband, to sell child away from parent, to shut the gates of knowledge, to appropriate all the fruits of another’s labor. The candidate proceeds in the canvass, notwithstanding all history declares Slavery essentially barbarous, and that whatever it touches it changes to itself,—that it barbarizes laws, barbarizes business, barbarizes manners, barbarizes social life, and makes the people who cherish it barbarians. And still the candidate proceeds, although it is known to the Christian powers that the partisans of Slavery are naturally “filibusters,” always apt for lawless incursion and for robbery; that, during later years, under their instigation and to advance their pretensions, expeditions identical in motive with the present Rebellion were let loose in the Gulf of Mexico, twice against Cuba, and twice, also, against Nicaragua, breaking the peace of the United States and threatening the repose of the world, so that Lopez and Walker were but predecessors of Beauregard and Jefferson Davis. And yet the candidate proceeds, although it is obvious that the recognition urged will be nothing less than solemn sanction by the Christian powers of Slavery everywhere throughout the new jurisdiction, on land or sea, so that every ship, being part of the floating territory, will be Slave Territory. And yet, with the phantasy that man can hold property in man shooting from his lips, with the shackle and lash in his hands, with barbarism on his forehead, with filibusterism in his recorded life, and with Slavery woven in his flag wherever it floats on land and sea, the candidate clamors for independent recognition. It is sad to think that there is delay in repelling the insufferable canvass. Can Christian nations longer hesitate? To detest and combat such an accursed pretension it is not necessary even to be a Christian,—it is sufficient to be a man.
If the recognition of a de facto power were a duty imposed upon other nations by International Law, there would be no opportunity for objections founded on principle or policy. But there is no such duty. International Law leaves to each nation, precisely as the Municipal Law leaves to each citizen, what company to keep or what copartnership to form. No company and no copartnership can be forced upon a nation. It is all a question of free choice and acceptance. International Law on this head is like the Constitution of the United States, which declares, “New States may be admitted by the Congress into this Union.” Not must, but may,—it being in the discretion of Congress to determine whether the State shall be admitted. Accordingly, in the exercise of this discretion, Congress for a long time refused to admit Missouri as a Slave State. And now the old Missouri Question, in more outrageous form, on vaster theatre, with “monarchs to behold the swelling scene,” is presented to the Christian powers of the world. If it was right to exclude Missouri, having only few slaves, and regarding Slavery merely as a temporary condition, it must be right to exclude a pretended nation, which not only boasts millions of slaves, but passionately proclaims the perpetuity and propagation of Slavery as the cause and object of its separate existence.
Practical statesmen have always treated recognition as a question of policy, to be determined on the whole case, even where the power is de facto established,—as amply appears in the Parliamentary debates on the recognition of Spanish America. If we go behind the practical statesmen and consult the earliest oracles of International Law, we find, that, according to their most approved utterances, not only may recognition be refused, but there are considerations of duty this way which cannot be evaded. It is not enough that a pretender has the form of a commonwealth. “A people,” says Cicero, in a definition copied by most jurists, “is not every body of men, howsoever congregated, but a gathered multitude associated through agreement in right and community of interest.”[110] Again, he goes so far as to say, “When the king is unjust, or the aristocracy, or the people itself, the commonwealth is not vicious, but null.”[111] Of course a commonwealth that is null cannot be recognized. This same lofty standard is of frequent recurrence in the testimony of the great Roman. But he is not alone. Grotius, who speaks always with the magistral voice of learning and genius, furnishes the just conclusion, when, after declaring that a state is “a complete body of freemen associated for the enjoyment of right and for their common benefit,”[112] he exposes the distinction between a body of men, who, being already a recognized commonwealth, are guilty of systematic crime,—as, for instance, piracy,—and another body of men, who, not yet recognized as a commonwealth, band together for this purpose,—sceleris causâ coeunt. The latter, by happy discrimination, he places beyond the pale of recognition.[113] When before, in all history, have creatures wearing the human form proclaimed the criminal principle of their association with the audacity of our Slavemongers? And yet there is hesitation to place them beyond the pale of recognition. A recent English authority on the Law of Nations adopts the same distinction. I quote Mr. Phillimore, who, after alluding to societies united for the sake of crime, says: “All agree to class such bodies amongst those of whose corporate existence the law takes no cognizance (qui civitatem non faciunt), and therefore as not entitled to international rights either in peace or war.”[114]
It might be argued, on grounds of reason and authority even, that the declared principle of the pretended power was a violation of International Law. Eminent magistrates have solemnly ruled, that, in the development of civilization, the Slave-Trade has become illegal by a law higher than any statute. Sir William Grant, an ornament of the British bench, whose elegant mind was governed always by practical sense, adjudged that this trade “cannot, abstractedly speaking, be said to have a legitimate existence”;[115] and our own great authority, Mr. Justice Story, in a remarkable judgment, declared himself constrained “to consider the trade an offence against the universal law of society”;[116] and the highest professional authorities of our country adopted the same conclusion: I refer especially to the late William Pinkney and Jeremiah Mason.[117] But arguments which are strong against any recognition of the Slave-Trade are strong also against any recognition of Slavery itself, especially when it is the foundation of a new power.
In the determination of present duty, it is not necessary to assume that Slavery or the Slave-Trade is positively forbidden by existing International Law. It is enough to show, that, according to the spirit of that sovereign law which “sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill,” and also according to those commanding principles of justice and humanity which cannot be set at nought without shock to human nature itself, so foul a wrong as Slavery can receive no voluntary support from the Commonwealth of Nations. It is not a question of Law, but of Morality. The Rule of Law is sometimes less comprehensive than the Rule of Morality, so that the latter may positively condemn what the former silently tolerates. But within its own domain Morality cannot be less authoritative than Law. It is, indeed, nothing less than the Law of Nature, which is the Law of God. If we listen again to heathen teaching, we shall confess its truth. “Law,” says Cicero, “is the highest reason, implanted in nature, which prescribes those things which ought to be done, and forbids the contrary.”[118] This law is an essential part of International Law, as is also Christianity itself, and where treaties fail and usage is silent it is the only law between nations. Jurists of all ages and countries have delighted to acknowledge its authority, if it spoke only in the still, small voice of conscience. A celebrated professor of Germany in our own day, Savigny, whose name is honored by students of jurisprudence everywhere, touches upon this monitor of nations, when he declares that “there may exist between different nations a common consciousness of right similar to that which engenders the positive law of particular nations.”[119] This common consciousness of right is identical with that law, which, according to Cicero, is “the highest reason, implanted in nature.” Such is the Rule of Morality.
The Rule of Morality differs from the Rule of Law in this respect,—that the former finds support in the human conscience, the latter in the sanctions of public force. But moral power prevails with a good man as much as if it were physical. I know no different rule for a good nation than for a good man. I am sure that a good nation will not do what a good man would scorn to do.
There is a Rule of Prudence superadded to the Rule of Morality. Grotius, in discussing treaties, does not forget the wisdom of Solomon, who, in not a few places, warns against fellowship with the wicked,—although he adds, that these are maxims of prudence, and not of law.[120] And he reminds us of the saying of Alexander, “that those grievously offend who enter the service of barbarians.”[121] Better still are the words of the wise historian of classical antiquity, who enjoins upon a commonwealth the duty of considering carefully, when sued for assistance, “whether what is sought is sufficiently pious, safe, glorious, or whether it is unbecoming”;[122] and also those words of the Hebrew king, who, after rebuking an alliance with Ahab, asks with scorn, “Shouldest thou help the ungodly?”[123]
The claim for recognition, when brought to the touchstone of these principles, is easily disposed of.
Urge not the Practice of Nations in its behalf. Never before in history has a candidacy been put forward in the name of Slavery, and the terrible outrage is aggravated by the Christian light which surrounds it. This is not an age of darkness. But even in the Dark Ages, when the Slavemongers of the Barbary coast had gathered into cities, the saintly Louis the Ninth was fired to treat one of these communities as a “nest of wasps.”[124] Afterwards, but slowly, they obtained “the right of legation” and “the reputation of a government”; when at last, weary of their criminal pretensions, the aroused vengeance of Great Britain and France blotted out this power from the list of nations. Louis the Eleventh, who has been described as the sovereign “who best understood his interest,” indignant at Richard the Third of England, who had murdered two infants in the Tower and usurped the crown, sent back his ambassadors without holding intercourse with them. This is a suggestive precedent, which I give on venerable authority in diplomatic history;[125] but the parricide usurper of England had never murdered so many infants or usurped so much as the pretended Slave Power, strangely tolerated by the sagacious sovereign who sits on the throne of Louis the Eleventh.
It is not necessary, however, to go so far in history, nor to dwell on the practice of nations in withholding or conceding recognition. The whole matter is stated by Burke, with his customary power.
“In the case of a divided kingdom, by the Law of Nations, Great Britain, like every other power, is free to take any part she pleases. She may decline, with more or less formality, according to her discretion, to acknowledge this new system; or she may recognize it as a government de facto, setting aside all discussion of its original legality, and considering the ancient monarchy as at an end. The Law of Nations leaves our court open to its choice.… The declaration of a new species of government on new principles is a real crisis in the politics of Europe.”[126]
This same rule Burke declared in Parliament, saying, “that the French Republic was sui generis, and bore no analogy to any other that ever existed in the world. It, therefore, did not follow that we ought to recognize it, merely because different powers in Europe had recognized the Republic of England under Oliver Cromwell.”[127] And in his famous “Appeal from the New to the Old Whigs” this illustrious authority proclaimed the new French Government “so fundamentally wrong as to be utterly incapable of correcting itself by any length of time, or of being formed into any mode of polity of which a member of the House of Commons could publicly declare his approbation.”[128]
Another eloquent publicist, Sir James Mackintosh, while pressing on Parliament the recognition of Spanish America, says: “The reception of a new state into the society of civilized nations by those acts which amount to recognition is a proceeding which has no legal character, and is purely of a moral nature”; and he proceeds to argue, that, since England “is the only anciently free state in the world, for her to refuse her moral aid to communities struggling for liberty is an act of unnatural harshness.”[129] Thus does he vindicate recognition for the sake of Freedom. How truly he would have repelled any recognition for the sake of Slavery let his life testify.
At the Congress of Verona, Chateaubriand, as representative of France, replied to a proposition from the Duke of Wellington on this subject:—
“France is influenced by considerations of more general importance with regard to the governments de facto. She conceives that the principles of justice on which society is founded must not be lightly sacrificed to secondary interests, and it appears to her that those principles increase in importance when the matter in question is that of recognizing a political order of things virtually hostile to that which exists in Europe.”[130]
Here the rule is mildly stated, but in harmony with correct principle. A new government, with Slavery as its active soul, must be “virtually hostile” to European civilization, so as to make its recognition impossible; nor can the principles of justice be lightly sacrificed.
No better testimony to the practice of nations can be found than the words of Vattel, whose work, presenting the subject in familiar form, has done more, during the last century, to fashion opinion on the Law of Nations than any other authority. Here it is briefly.
“If there be any nation that makes an open profession of trampling justice under foot, of despising and violating the rights of others, whenever it finds an opportunity, the interest of human society will authorize all others to unite in order to humble and chastise it.”[131]
“To form and support an unjust pretension is to do an injury only to the nation whom such pretension concerns; to mock at justice in general is to injure all nations.”[132]
“The power that assists an odious tyrant, that declares for an unjust and rebellious people, undoubtedly violates duty.”[133]
“As to those monsters who under the title of sovereigns render themselves the scourges and horror of humanity, they are ferocious beasts, of whom every brave man may justly clear the earth.”[134]
“If the maxims of a religion tend to establish it by violence, and to oppress all those who do not embrace it, the Law of Nature forbids us to favor that religion, or to unite unnecessarily with its inhuman followers, and the common safety of mankind invites them rather to enter into a league against such madmen, to repress such fanatics, who disturb the public repose and menace all nations.”[135]
Nor can you urge this recognition on any principle of Comity of Nations. This is an expansive term, into which enters much of the refinements, amenities, and hospitalities of civilization, and also something of the obligations of moral duty. But where an act is prejudicial to national interests, or contrary to national policy, or questionable in morals, it cannot be commended by any consideration of courtesy. A paramount duty must not be betrayed by a kiss. For the sake of comity, acts of good-will and friendship not required by law are performed between nations; but an English court has authoritatively declared that this principle cannot prevail, “where it violates the law of our own country, the Law of Nature, or the Law of God,” and on this exalted ground it was decided that an American slave who had found shelter on board a British man-of-war on the high seas could not be recognized as a slave.[136] The same principle must prevail against recognition of a new slave nation.
Nor, finally, can this recognition be urged on any reason of Peace. There can be no peace founded on injustice; and any recognition is injustice which will cry aloud, resounding through the earth. You may seem to have peace, but it will be only smothered war, sure to break forth in war more direful than before.
Thus is every argument for recognition repelled, whether under the sounding words, Practice of Nations, Comity of Nations, or Peace. There is nothing in practice, nothing in comity, nothing in peace, which is not against any such shameful acknowledgment.
Applying the principles already set forth,—assuming what cannot be denied, that every power is free to refuse recognition,—assuming that it is not every body of men that can be considered a commonwealth, but only those “associated through agreement in right and community of interest,”—that men “banding together for the sake of systematic crime” cannot be considered a commonwealth,—assuming that every member of the Family of Nations will surely obey the rule of morality,—that it will “shun fellowship with the wicked,”—that it will not “enter the service of barbarians,”—that it will avoid what is “unbecoming,” and do that only which is “pious, safe, and glorious,”—and that, above all things, it will not enter into alliance to “help the ungodly,”—assuming these things, every such member must reject with indignation a new pretension whose declared principle of association is so intrinsically wicked. Here there can be no question. The case is plain; nor is any language of contumely or scorn too strong to express the irrepressible repugnance to such a pretension, which, like vice, “to be hated needs but to be seen.” Surely there can be no Christian power which will not rouse to expose it, crying, with irresistible voice,—
No new sanction of Slavery!
No new quickening of Slavery in its active and aggressive barbarism!
No new encouragement to “filibusters” engendered by Slavery!
No new creation of Slave Territory!
No new creation of a Slave Navy!
No new Slave Nation!
No installation of Slavery as a new Civilization!
But all this litany will fail, if recognition succeeds,—from which, good Lord, deliver us! Nor will this be the end.
Slavery, through the new power, will take its place in the Parliament of mankind, with the immunities of an independent nation, ready always to uphold and advance itself, and organized as an unrelenting Propaganda of the new faith. A power having its inspiration in such a Barbarism must be essentially barbarous; founded on the asserted right to whip women and sell children, it must assume a character of disgusting hardihood; and openly professing determination to revolutionize the public opinion of the world, it must be in open schism with Civilization itself, so that all its influences will be wild, savage, brutal, and all its offspring kindred in character.
“Pards gender pards; from tigers tigers spring;
No doves are hatched beneath a vulture’s wing.”[137]
Such a power, from very nature, must be despotism at home “tempered only by assassination,” with the cotton-field for its Siberia,—while abroad it must be aggressive, dangerous, and revolting, in itself a Magnum Latrocinium, whose fellowship can have nothing but “the filthiness of evil,” and whose very existence will be an intolerable nuisance. When Dante, in the vindictive judgment hurled against his own Florence, called it bordello, he did not use a term too strong for the mighty house of ill-fame which the Christian powers are now asked for the first time to license. Such must be the character of the new power. But, though only a recent wrong, and pleading no prescription, the illimitable audacity of its nature can hesitate at nothing; nor is there anything offensive or detestable it will not absorb into itself. It will be an Ishmael, with hand against every man. It will be a brood of Harpies, defiling all it cannot steal. It will be the one-eyed Cyclop of nations, seeing only through Slavery, spurning all as fools who do not see likewise, and bellowing forth in savage egotism,—
“Know, then, we Cyclops are a race above
Those air-bred people and their goat-nursed Jove;
And learn our power proceeds with thee and thine
Not as he wills, but as ourselves incline.”[138]
Or it will be the Læstrygonian cannibal, with Slavery a perpetual maw, and terrible to the civilized world as that distant power to the companions of Ulysses, when, according to Homer,
“One for his food the raging glutton slew.”[139]
Or, worse still, it will be the soulless monster of Frankenstein, the wretched creation of human science without God,—endowed with life and nothing else, forever raging madly, the scandal to humanity, powerful only for evil, whose destruction will be essential to the peace of the world.
Who can welcome such a creation? Who can consort with it? There is something loathsome in the idea. There is contamination even in the thought. If you live with the lame, says the ancient proverb, you will learn to limp; if you keep in the kitchen, you will smell of smoke; if you touch pitch, you will be defiled. But what limp so mean as that of this pretended power? what smoke so foul as its breath? what pitch so defiling as its touch? It is an Oriental saying, that a cistern of rosewater will become impure, if a dog be dropped into it; but an ocean of rosewater with Rebel Slavemongers would be changed into a vulgar puddle. Imagine whatever is most disgusting, and this pretended power is more disgusting still. Naturalists report that the pike will swallow anything except the toad, but this it cannot do. The experiment has been tried, and though this fish, in unhesitating voracity, always gulps whatever is thrown to it, yet invariably it spews the nuisance from its throat. Our Slavemonger pretension is worse than toad; and yet there are foreign nations which, instead of spewing it forth, are already turning it like a precious morsel on the tongue.
There is yet another ground on which I make this appeal. It is part of the triumphs of Civilization, that no nation can act for itself alone. Whatever it does for good or for evil affects all the rest. Therefore a nation cannot forget its obligations to others. Especially does International Law, when it declares the absolute equality of independent nations, cast upon all the duty of considering well how this privilege shall be bestowed so that the welfare of all may be best upheld. But the whole Family of Nations would be degraded by admitting this new pretension to any toleration, much more to equality. There can be no reason for such admission; for it can bring nothing to the general weal. Civil society is created for safety and tranquillity. Nations come together and fraternize for the common good. But this hateful pretension can do nothing but evil for civil society at home or for nations in their intercourse with each other. It can show no title to recognition, no passport for its travels, no old existence. It is all new. And here I borrow the language of Burke on another occasion:—
“It is not a new power of an old kind. It is a new power of a new species. When such a questionable shape is to be admitted for the first time into the brotherhood of Christendom, it is not a mere matter of idle curiosity to consider how far it is in its nature alliable with the rest.”[140]
The greatest of corporations is a nation; the sublimest of all associations is that composed of nations, independent and equal, knit together in the bonds of peaceful fraternity as the great Christian Commonwealth. The Slavemongers may be a corporation in fact, but no such corporation can find place in that august Commonwealth. As well admit the Thugs, whose first article of faith is to kill the stranger,—or the Buccaneers, those “brothers of the coast,” who plundered on the sea; or, better still, revive the old Kingdom of the Assassins, where the king was an assassin, surrounded by counsellors and generals who were assassins, and all his subjects were assassins; or yet again, better at once and openly recognize Antichrist, the supreme and highest impersonation of the Slave Power.
Amidst the general degradation following such obeisance to Slavery, there are two Christian powers that would appear in sad and shameful eminence. I refer to Great Britain, declared protectress of the African race, and to France, declared champion of “ideas,” who, from the very abundance of pledges, are so situated that they cannot desert the good old cause and turn their faces against civilization without criminal tergiversation, which no mantle of diplomacy can cover. Where, then, is British devotion to the African race, so eloquently proclaimed by the British Minister? Where, then, is French devotion to ideas, so ostentatiously announced by the French Emperor? Remembered only to point a tale and show how nations have fallen. Great Britain knows less than France of national vicissitudes, but such an act of wrong would do something in its influence to equalize the conditions of these two nations. Rather than do this thing, better for the fast-anchored isle that it should sink beneath the sea, carrying down its cathedrals, its castles, its happy homes, its fields of glory, Runnymede, Westminster Hall, and the tomb of Shakespeare. In other days England has valiantly striven against Slavery, winning a truer glory than any achieved by her arms on land or sea; and now she is willing to surrender, at a moment when more can be done than ever before against the monster, wherever it shows its head,—for Slavery everywhere has its neck in this Rebellion. In other days France has valiantly striven for ideas; and now she, too, proposes surrender, although all that she professes at heart is involved in the doom of Slavery, which a word from her might hasten beyond recall. It is in England, where the great victory of Emancipation was first obtained, that now, more even than in France, the strongest sentiment for Rebel Slavemongers is manifest, constituting a moral mania which menaces a pact and concordat with the Rebellion itself,—as when an early Pope, head of the Christian Church, did not hesitate to execute a piratical convention with a Pagan enemy to the Christian name. It only remains that the new coalition should be signed in order to consummate the unutterable degradation. The contracting parties will be the Queen of England and Jefferson Davis, once patron of “Repudiation,” now chief of Rebel Slavery. Then must this virtuous lady, whose pride is justice always, bend to receive the author of the Fugitive Slave Bill as ambassadorial plenipotentiary at her Court.
A new power, dedicated to Slavery, will take its seat at the great council-board, to jostle thrones and benches, while it overshadows humanity. Its foul attorneys, reeking with Slavery, will have their letter of license as ambassadors of Slavery, to rove from court to court, over foreign carpets, poisoning the air which has been nobly pronounced too pure for a slave to breathe. Alas for England, vowed a thousand times to the protection of the African race, and by her best renown knit perpetually to this sacred loyalty, now plunging into adulterous dalliance with Slavery, recognizing the new and impious Protestantism against Liberty itself, and wickedly becoming Defender of the Faith as now professed by Rebel Slavemongers! Alas for England’s Queen, woman and mother, carried off from the cause of Wilberforce and Clarkson to sink into unseemly association with the scourgers of women and the auctioneers of children!—for a “stain” deeper than that which aroused the anguish of Maria Theresa is settling upon her reign. Alas for that Royal Consort, humane and just, whose dying voice was given to assuage the temper of that ministerial despatch, by which, in an evil hour, England was made to strike hands with Rebel Slavery!—for the counsellor is needed now to save the land he adorned from an act of inexpiable shame.
And for all this sickening immorality I hear but one declared apology. It is, that the Union permitted and still permits Slavery,—therefore foreign nations may recognize Rebel Slavery as a new power. Here is the precise error. England is still in diplomatic relations with Spain, and was only a short time ago in diplomatic relations with Brazil, both permitting Slavery; but these two powers are not new, they are already established, there is no question of recognition, nor do they pretend to found empire on Slavery. There is no reason in any relations with them why a new power, with Slavery as its declared “corner-stone,” whose gospel is Slavery, and whose evangelists are Slavemongers, should be recognized in the Family of Nations. If Ireland were in triumphant rebellion against the British Queen, complaining of rights denied, it would be our duty to recognize her as an independent power; but if Ireland rebelled with the declared object of establishing a new power which should be nothing less than a giant felony and a nuisance to the world, then it would be our duty to spurn the infamous pretension, and no triumph of rebellion could change this plain and irresistible obligation. And yet, in face of this commanding rule, we are told to expect the recognition of Rebel Slavery.
An aroused public opinion, “the world’s collected will,” and returning reason in England and France, will see to it that Civilization is saved from this shock, and the nations themselves from the terrible retribution which sooner or later must surely attend it. No power can afford to stand up before mankind and openly vote a new and untrammelled charter to injustice and cruelty. God is an unsleeping avenger; nor can armies, fleets, bulwarks, or “towers along the steep” prevail against His mighty anger. To any application for this unholy recognition there is but one word the Christian powers can utter. It is simply and austerely “No,” with an emphasis that shall silence argument and extinguish hope itself. And this proclamation should go forth swiftly. Every moment of hesitation is a moment of apostasy, casting its lengthening shadow of dishonor. Not to discourage is to encourage; not to blast is to bless. Let this simple word be uttered, and Slavery will slink away with a mark on its forehead, like Cain, a perpetual vagabond, forever accursed; and the malediction of the Lord shall descend upon it, saying: “Among these nations shalt thou find no ease, neither shall the sole of thy foot have rest; but the Lord shall give thee there a trembling heart and failing of eyes and sorrow of mind; and thy life shall hang in doubt before thee, and thou shalt fear day and night, and shalt have none assurance of thy life; in the morning thou shalt say, Would God it were even, and at even thou shalt say, Would God it were morning.”[141]
V.
Too much have I spoken for your patience, if not enough for the cause. But there is yet another topic, which I have reserved to the last, because logically it belongs there, or at least can be best considered in the gathered light of the previous discussion. Its immediate practical interest is great. I refer to the Concession of Belligerent Rights, being the first stage to independence. Great Britain led the way in acknowledging the embryo government as belligerent on sea as well as land, and by proclamation of the Queen declared neutrality between the two parties,—thus lifting an embryo, which was nothing else than animate Slavery, to equality on sea as well as land with its ancient ally, the National Government. Here was a blunder, if not a crime, not merely in the alacrity with which it was done, but in doing it at all. It was followed immediately by France, and then by Spain, Holland, and Brazil. The concession of belligerent rights on land was a name and nothing more, therefore I say nothing about it. But the concession of belligerent rights on the ocean is of widely different character, and the two reasons against the recognition of independence are equally applicable to this concession: first, the embryo government has no maritime or naval belligerent rights de facto, and, secondly, an embryo of Rebel Slavery cannot have the character de facto which would justify the concession of maritime or naval belligerence; so that, were the concession vindicated on the first ground, it must fail on the second.
The concession of ocean belligerence is a letter of license from consenting powers to every Slavemonger cruiser, or rather it is the countersign of these powers to the commission of every such cruiser. Without such countersign the cruiser would be an outlaw, with no right to enter a foreign port. The declaration of belligerence imparts legal competence, and the right to testify by flag and arms. Without such competence there would be no flag and no right to bear arms on the ocean. Burke sententiously describes it as an “intermediate treaty which puts rebels in possession of the Law of Nations with regard to war.”[142] And this is plainly true.
The magnitude of this concession may be seen in three aspects: first, in the immunities it confers, putting an embryo of Rebel Slavery on equality with established governments, making its cruisers lawful instead of piratical, and opening to them boundless facilities at sea and in port, so that they may obtain supplies and hospitality; secondly, in the degradation it fastens upon the National Government, which is condemned to see its ships treated on equality with the ships of Rebel Slavery, and also the just rule of “neutrality” between belligerent powers invoked to fetter its activity against a giant felony; and, thirdly, in the disturbance to commerce it sanctions, by letting loose lawless sea-rovers armed with belligerent rights, including the right of search, whose natural recklessness is left unbridled and without remedy even from diplomatic intercourse. The ocean is a common highway; but it is for the interest of all who traverse it that the highway should not be disturbed by predatory hostilities. Such a concession should be made with the greatest caution, and then only under the necessity of the case, on the overwhelming authority of the fact: for, from beginning to end, it is simply a question of fact, absolutely dependent on those conditions and prerequisites without which ocean belligerence cannot exist.
As a general rule, belligerent rights are conceded only where a rebel government or contending party in a civil war has acquired such form and body, that, for the time being, within certain limits, it is sovereign de facto, so far at least as to command troops and to administer justice. On this last point I dwell especially. It is the capacity to administer justice which is the criterion, whether on land or ocean. The concession of belligerence is the recognition of such limited sovereignty, which bears the same relation to acknowledged independence as gristle bears to bone. It is obvious that such sovereignty may exist de facto on land without existing de facto on ocean. It may prevail in armies, and yet fail in navies. In short, the fact may be one way on land and the other way on ocean. Nor can it be inferred on ocean simply from existence on land. Our Supreme Court has declared that there may be “a limited, partial war,” “a restrained or limited hostility,” “an imperfect war, or a war as to certain objects and to a certain extent.” Thus, on one occasion, hostilities were authorized “on the high seas by certain persons in certain cases,” but without authority “to commit hostilities on land.”[143] But by the same rule there may be war on land and not on sea, and this may follow from the necessity of the case. If Rebel Slavery does not come within the conditions of ocean war, then, whatever its belligerence on land, it cannot expect it on the ocean. Since every such concession is adverse to the original government, and is made only under the necessity of the case, it must be limited carefully to the actual fact. Indeed, Mr. Canning, who has shed so much light on these topics, openly took the ground that “belligerency is not so much a principle as a fact.”[144] And the question then arises, whether Rebel Slavery has acquired such de facto sovereignty on the ocean as entitles it to ocean belligerent rights.
There are at least two “facts” patent to all: first, that Rebel Slavery is without a single port into which even legal cruisers can take prizes for adjudication; and, secondly, that the ships which now presume to exercise ocean belligerent rights in its name—constituting that navy which a member of the British Cabinet announced as “to be created”—were all “created” in England, which is the naval base from which they sally forth on predatory cruise, without once entering a port of their own pretended government.
These two “facts” are different in nature. The first attaches absolutely to the pretended power, rendering it incompetent to exercise belligerent jurisdiction on the ocean. The second attaches to the individual ships, rendering them piratical. These simple and unquestionable “facts” are the key to unlock the present question.
From the reason of the case, there can be no ocean belligerent without a port into which it can take prizes. Any other rule is absurd. It is not enough to sail the sea, like the Flying Dutchman; the ocean belligerent must be able to touch the land, and that land its own. This proceeds on the idea of civilized warfare, that something more than naked force is essential to the completeness of capture. According to the earlier rule, transmutation of property was accomplished by the “pernoctation” of the captured ship within the port of the belligerent,—or, as it was called, deductio infra præsidia. As early as 1414, under Henry the Fifth of England, there was an Act of Parliament requiring privateers to bring their prizes into a port of the kingdom, and to make a declaration thereof to a proper officer, before undertaking to dispose of them.[145] The modern rule interposes an additional check upon lawless violence, by requiring the condemnation of a competent court. This rule, which is among the most authoritative of the British Admiralty, is found in the famous letter of Sir William Scott and Sir John Nicholl, addressed to John Jay, as follows: “Before the ship or goods can be disposed of by the captor, there must be a regular judicial proceeding, wherein both parties may be heard, and condemnation thereupon as prize, in a Court of Admiralty, judging by the Law of Nations and treaties.”[146] This is explicit, and is plainly necessary for the protection of neutral commerce. But this rule is French as well as English. It is part of International Law. A seizure is regarded merely as a preliminary act, which does not divest the property, though it paralyzes the right of the proprietor. A subsequent act of condemnation by a competent tribunal is necessary to determine if the seizure is valid. The question is compendiously called Prize or No Prize. Where the property of neutrals is involved, this requirement becomes of absolute necessity. In conceding belligerence, all customary belligerent rights with regard to neutrals are conceded also, so that neutral rights and interests are put in jeopardy. Here we see at once the wrong done. If nothing is due to Civilization, something is due to neutrals. Without dwelling on this point, I content myself with the authority of two recent French writers. M. Hautefeuille, in his elaborate work, says: “The cruiser is not recognized as the proprietor of the objects seized, he cannot dispose of them, but it is his duty to present himself before the tribunal and obtain a sentence declaring them to be prize.”[147] A later writer, M. Eugène Cauchy, whose work has appeared since our war began, says: “A usage which evidently has its source in natural equity requires, that, before proceeding to divide the booty, there should be an inquiry as to the regularity of the prize. Every prize taken from an enemy should be carried before the judge established by the sovereign of the captor.”[148] But if the power calling itself belligerent cannot comply with this condition,—if it has no port into which it can bring the captured ship, and no court, according to the requirement of the British Admiralty, with “a regular judicial proceeding wherein both parties may be heard,”—it is clearly not in a situation to dispose of a ship or goods as prize. Whatever its force in other respects, it lacks a vital element of ocean belligerence. In that semi-sovereignty which constitutes belligerence on land there must be provision for the administration of justice, without which there is nothing but a mob. In that same semi-sovereignty on the ocean there must be similar provision. It is not enough that there are ships duly commissioned to take prizes, there must also be courts to try them; and the latter are not less important than the former. Such is the conclusion of reason, in harmony with acknowledged principles. How, then, acknowledge belligerent rights where this condition is wanting?
Earl Russell himself, so swift to make this concession, is led to confess the necessity of Prize Courts on the part of ocean belligerents, and thus exposes the irrational character of his own work. In a letter to the Liverpool Chamber of Commerce, occasioned by the destruction of British cargoes, the Minister says: “The owners of any British property, not being contraband of war, on board a Federal vessel captured and destroyed by a Confederate vessel of war, may claim in a Confederate Prize Court compensation for destruction of such property.”[149] Even in the very speech announcing the belligerent rights of our Rebels, including the right to visit and detain British merchant vessels having enemy’s property on board and to confiscate such property, Earl Russell was compelled to declare, that “it was necessarily implied, as a condition of such acknowledgment, that the detention was for the purpose of bringing the vessels detained before an established Court of Prize, and that confiscation did not take place until after condemnation by such competent tribunal.”[150] Such was the express condition, obviously to secure justice. If there be no Prize Court, then justice must fail; and with this failure tumbles in fact the whole wretched pretension of ocean belligerence, except in the galvanism of a Queen’s proclamation or a Cabinet concession.
If a cruiser may at any time burn prizes, it is because of some exceptional exigency in a particular case, and not according to general rule, which practically declares that there can be no right to take a prize, if there be no port into which it may be carried. The right of capture and the right of trial are the complements of each other, through which a harsh prerogative is supposed to be rounded into the proper form of civilized warfare. Therefore every ship and cargo burned by the captors for the reason that they had no port testifies that they are without that vital sovereignty on the ocean which is needed in the exercise of belligerent jurisdiction, and that they are not ocean belligerents in fact. Nay, more, all these bonfires of the sea cry out against the power which by precipitate concession furnished the torch. As well invest the rebel rajahs of India, who never tasted salt water, with this ocean prerogative, so that they too may rob and burn; as well constitute land-locked Poland, now in arms for independence, an ocean belligerent,—or enroll mountain Switzerland in the same class,—or join with Shakespeare in giving to inland Bohemia an outlook upon the ocean.[151]
To aggravate this concession, the ships are all built, rigged, armed, and manned in Great Britain. It is out of British oak and British iron that they are constructed, rigged with British ropes, made formidable with British arms, provided with British gunners, and navigated by British crews, so as to constitute in all respects a British naval expedition. British ports supply the place of Rebel Slavemonger ports. British ports are open to them, when their own are closed. British ports constitute their naval base of operations and supplies, furnishing everything needful, except an officer, the ship’s papers, and a court for the trial of the prizes, each of which is essential to the legality of the expedition. And yet these same ships, thus equipped in British ports, and never touching a port of the pretended government in whose name they rob and burn,—being simply a rib taken out of the side of England and prostituted to Rebel Slavery,—receive the further passport of belligerence from the British Government, when in fact the belligerence does not exist. The whole proceeding, from the laying of the keel in a British dockyard to the bursting flames on the ocean, is a mockery of International Law and an insult to a friendly power.
The case is sometimes said to be new; but it is new only as no such “parricide” is provided against in express terms. It was not anticipated. But the principles which govern it are as old as justice and humanity, in the interests of which belligerent rights are said to be conceded. Here it is all reversed, and it is now apparent, that, whatever the motives of the British Government, the concession was in behalf of injustice and inhumanity. Burning ships and scattered wrecks are the witnesses. If such a case is not condemned by International Law, then has this law lost its virtue. Call such cruisers by whatever polite term most pleases the ear, and you do not change their character with their name. Without a home and without a legal character, they are mere gypsies of the sea, disturbers of the common highway, outlaws, and enemies of the human race.
There is a precedent which shows how impossible it is for a pretended power, without a single port, to possess belligerent rights on the ocean, and how impossible it is for the ship of such pretended power to be anything but a felon ship. James the Second of England, after he had ceased to be de facto king, and while an exile without a single port, undertook to issue letters of marque. It was argued unanswerably before the Privy Council of William the Third, that a deposed prince could not receive from any other sovereign “international privileges”; “that, if he could grant a commission to take the ships of a single nation, it would in effect be a general license to plunder, because those who were so commissioned would be their own judges of whatever they took”; and “that the reason of the thing, which pronounced that robbers and pirates, when they formed themselves into a civil society, became just enemies, pronounced also that a king without territory, without power of protecting the innocent or punishing the guilty, or in any way of administering justice, dwindled into a pirate, if he issued commissions to seize the goods and ships of nations, and that they who took commissions from him must be held by legal inference to have associated ‘sceleris causâ’ and could not be considered as members of a civil society.”[152] These weighty words are strictly applicable to the present case. Whatever the force of Rebel Slavery on land, it is no more on the ocean than the “deposed prince,” “without power of protecting the innocent or punishing the guilty, or in any way of administering justice”; and, like the prince, it has “dwindled into a pirate,” except so far as sustained by British concession. In adducing this precedent, I follow the learned ex-Chancellor, Lord Chelmsford, who used it to show, that, without the concession of belligerent rights to our Rebels, “any Englishman aiding them by fitting out a privateer against the Federal Government would be guilty of piracy.”[153] But the reasoning at the Privy Council shows, also, that the concession ought not to have been made.
There is yet another British precedent, which shows how essential are judicial proceedings before appropriation of a captured ship or cargo. The case is memorable. It is none other than that of the famous Captain Kidd, who, on indictment for piracy, as long ago as 1701, produced a commission in justification. But it was at once declared not enough to show a commission; he must also show condemnation of the captured ship. The Lord Chief Baron of that day said, that, “if he had acted pursuant to his commission, he ought to have condemned the ship and goods”; that “by his not condemning them he seems to show his aim, mind, and intention; that he did not act in that case by virtue of his commission, but quite contrary to it, for he takes the ship and shares the money and goods, and is taken in that very ship, … so that there is no color or pretence appears that he intended to bring this ship to England to be condemned or to have condemned it in any of the English plantations”; and that, “whilst men pursue their commissions, they must be justified, but when they do things not authorized, or never acted by them, it is as if there had been no commission at all.”[154] Captain Kidd was condemned to death and executed as a pirate. If he was a pirate, worthy of death, then, by the same rule, those rovers who rob cargoes, burn ships, and adorn their cabins with rows of stolen chronometers, careless of a Prize Court, are entitled to small favor from a civilized power.
Without considering more critically what should be the fate of these ocean incendiaries, or what the responsibilities of England, out of whom they came, I content myself with the conclusion that they are not entitled to ocean belligerence. And here let it be understood that no question is possible with regard to an established power with access to the ocean; for belligerent rights are fixed by International Law, without foreign recognition; nor can the rights of such a power be a precedent for any concession to a rebel community without ports and Prize Courts.
Pirate is a hard word; but Jefferson did not shrink from applying it to “private armed vessels,” infesting our coasts, preying upon our commerce, and making captures at the very entrance of our harbors, as well as on the high seas. “They have carried them off,” he says, “under pretence of legal adjudication; but, not daring to approach a court of justice, they have plundered and sunk them by the way, or in obscure places, where no evidence could arise against them, maltreated the crews, and abandoned them in boats in the open sea or on desert shores without food or covering.” These things, kindred to what is done by our Rebel cruisers, he calls “enormities,” and he announces that he has equipped a force “to bring the offenders in for trial as pirates.”[155]
Even if Rebel Slavery, coagulated in embryo government, has arrived at that semi-sovereignty de facto on the ocean which justifies belligerent rights, yet the Christian powers should indignantly decline to make the concession, because by doing so they make themselves accomplices in shameful crime. Here I avoid details. It is sufficient to say that every argument of fact and reason, every whisper of conscience and humanity, every indignant outburst of an honest man against recognition of Slavery as an independent power, is equally strong against any concession of ocean belligerence. Such concession is half-way house to recognition, and can be made only where a nation is ready, if the fact of independence be sufficiently established, to acknowledge it, on the principle of Vattel, that “whosoever has a right to the end has a right to the means.”[156] It is equally clear, that, where a nation, on grounds of conscience, must refuse recognition of independence, it cannot concede belligerence; for, where the end is forbidden, the means must be forbidden also. The illogical absurdity of such concession by Great Britain, so persistent always against Slavery, and now for more than a generation the declared protectress of the African race, becomes doubly apparent, when it is considered that every Rebel ship built in England and invested with ocean belligerence carries with it the Law of Slavery, so that, by British concession, the ship becomes an extension of Slave territory and a floating Slave castle.
And yet it is said that this impostor is entitled to ocean rights, and the British Queen is made to proclaim them. Sad day for England, when another wicked compromise was struck with Slavery, kindred to that old treaty which mantles the cheeks of honest Englishmen, when the slave-trade was protected and its profits secured to British subjects! I know not the profits secured by the destruction of American commerce, but I do know that the Treaty of Utrecht, crimson with the blood of slaves, is not so crimson as that reckless proclamation which gave to Slavery a frantic life, and helped for a time, nay, still helps, this demon in the rage with which it battles against Human Rights. Such a ship, with the law of Slavery on its deck and the flag of Slavery at its mast-head, sailing for Slavery, fighting for Slavery, burning for Slavery, and knowing no other sovereignty than the pretended government of Rebel Slavery, can be nothing less in spirit and character than a slave pirate and the enemy of the human race. Like produces like, and the parent power, which is Slavery, must stamp itself upon the ship, making it a floating offence to Heaven, with no limit to its audacity,—wild, outrageous, impious, a monster of the deep, to be hunted down by all who have not forgotten their duty alike to God and man.
Meanwhile there is one simple act which the justice of England cannot continue to refuse. That fatal concession, made in a moment of eclipse, when reason and humanity were obscured, must be annulled. The blunder-crime must be renounced, so that Slave pirates may no longer sail the sea, robbing, destroying, burning, with British license. Then will they promptly disappear forever, and with them the occasion of strife between two great powers, who ought to be, if not as mother and child, at least as brothers among the nations. And may God in His mercy help this consummation!
Here I leave this part of the subject, founding my objections on two grounds.
(1.) The embryo of Rebel Slavery has not that degree of sovereignty on the ocean which is essential to belligerence there.
(2.) Even if it possessed the requisite sovereignty, no Christian power can make such concession to it without shameful complicity with Slavery.
Both are objections of fact. Either is sufficient. Even if the belligerence seems to be established as fact, still its concession in this age of Christian light must be impossible, except under some temporary aberration, which, for the honor of England and the welfare of Humanity, should speedily pass away.
Again, fellow-citizens, I crave forgiveness for this long trespass. If the field traversed is ample, it has been brightened always by the light of international justice, exposing clearly, from beginning to end, the sacred landmarks of duty. I have been frank, disguising nothing and keeping nothing back, so that you have been able to see the perils to which the Republic is exposed from the natural tendency of war to breed war, as exhibited in examples of history, and also from the fatal proclivity of foreign powers to intermeddle, as exhibited in recent instances of querulous criticism or intrusive proposition, all adverse to the good cause, while pirate ships are permitted to depredate on our commerce; then how the best historic instances testify in favor of Freedom, and how all intervention of every kind, whether by proffer of mediation or otherwise, becomes intolerable, when its influence tends to the establishment of that soulless anomaly, a professed Republic built on the hopeless and everlasting bondage of a race; and especially how Great Britain is sacredly engaged by all the logic of her history and all her traditions in unbroken lineage against any such unutterable baseness; then how all the Christian powers constituting the Family of Nations are firmly bound to set their faces against any recognition of the embryo government.—first, because its independence is not in fact established, and, secondly, because, even if in fact established, its recognition is impossible without criminal complicity in Slavery; and, lastly, how these same Christian powers are firmly bound by the same twofold reasons against any concession of ocean rights to this hideous pretender.
It only remains that the Republic should gird itself to the majesty of its duties. War is terrible and hard to bear, with its waste, its pains, its wounds, its funerals. But in this war we are not choosers. We are challenged to the defence of country, and in this sacred cause to crush Slavery. There is no alternative. Slavery began the combat, staking life, and determined to rule or die. Let it die; and to this end the country must be aroused. We need a song like “Scots who have with Wallace bled.” The cause is greater now than then. We need words like those of Luther, “half battles.” Ours is another Reformation and another Revolution. The attempted revolution for Slavery we meet by a counter revolution for Liberty. That we may continue freemen, there must be no slaves; and thus our own security is linked with the redemption of a race. Blessed lot, amidst the harshness of war, to wield the arms and deal the blows under which the monster will surely fall! The battle is mighty; for into Slavery has entered the Spirit of Evil. It is persistent; for such a gathered wickedness, concentrated, aroused, and maddened, must have a tenacity of life which will not yield at once. But no might nor time can save it now.
That the whole war is contained in Slavery may be seen not only in the acts of the National Government, but also in the confessions of Rebel Slavemongers. Already the President has proclaimed that the slaves throughout the whole Rebel region “are and henceforward shall be free”; and in order to fix the irreversible character of this sublime edict, he has further announced “that the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.”[157] An enlightened commission is constituted to consider how these thronging freedmen can be best employed for their own good and the national defence. Already the sons of Africa, as mustered soldiers of the Union, have shown a discipline and a bravery not unworthy of their ancient fathers, when the prophet Jeremiah said, “Let the mighty men come forth, the Ethiopians and the Libyans that handle the shield”;[158] and still further, by their stature, by their appearance in the ranks, and even by the unexpected testimony of sanitary statistics, according to which for every black soldier disabled by sickness there are more than ten white, thus making the army health of the black ten times as sure as that of the white,—by all these things they have shown that the Father of History, who is our earliest classical authority, was not entirely mistaken, when he spoke of Ethiopia as “the most distant region of the earth, whose inhabitants are the tallest, most beautiful, and most long-lived of the human race.”[159] Even if these acts of the National Government were less significant, all doubt is removed by the Rebel Slavemongers themselves, who, in Satanic audacity, openly avow that Slavery is the end and aim of the government they seek to establish, so that the whole bloody war they wage is all in the name of Slavery. Therefore, in battling against the Rebellion, we battle against Slavery. Freedom is the growing inspiration of our armies and the just inscription of our banners. Such a war is not a war of subjugation, but a war of liberation, to save the Republic from a petty oligarchy of taskmasters, and to rescue four millions of human beings from cruel oppression. Not to subjugate, but to liberate, is the object of our Holy War.
And yet British statesmen, forgetting for the moment all moral distinctions, forgetting God, who will not be forgotten, gravely announce that our cause must fail. Alas! individual wickedness is too often successful; but a pretended nation, suckled in wickedness and boasting its wickedness, a new Sodom, with all the guilt of the old, waiting to be blasted, and yet, in barefaced effrontery, openly seeking the fellowship of Christian powers, is doomed to defeat. Toleration of such a pretension is practical atheism. Chronology and geography are both offended. Piety stands aghast. In this age of light, and in countries boasting civilization, there can be no place for its barbarous plenipotentiaries. As well expect crocodiles crawling on the pavements of London and Paris, or the carnivorous idols of Africa installed for worship in Westminster Abbey and Notre Dame.
Even if the Republic were less strong, yet I am glad to believe that the Rebellion must fail from the essential impossibility of any such wicked success. The responsibilities of the Christian powers would be increased by our weakness. Behind our blockade there would be a moral blockade; behind our armies there would be the aroused judgment of the civilized world. But not on that account can we hesitate. This is no time to pause. Thus do I, who formerly pleaded so often for Peace, now insist upon Liberty as its indispensable condition,[160]—clearly because, in this terrible moment, there is no other way to that sincere and solid peace without which is endless war. Even on economic grounds, it were better that this war should proceed rather than recognize any partition, which, beginning with humiliation, must involve the perpetuation of armaments and break out again in blood. But there is something worse than waste of money; it is waste of character. Give me any peace but a liberticide peace. In other days the immense eloquence of Burke was stirred against a regicide peace. But a peace founded on the killing of a king is not so bad as a peace founded on the killing of Liberty; nor can the saddest scenes of such a peace be so sad as the daily life legalized by Slavery. A queen on the scaffold is not so pitiful a sight as a woman on the auction-block.
While thus steady in purpose at home, we must not neglect that proper moderation abroad which becomes the consciousness of strength and the nobleness of our cause. The mistaken sympathy which foreign powers bestow upon Slavery,—or, it may be, the mistaken insensibility,—under the plausible name of “neutrality,” which they profess, will be worse for them than for us. For them it will be a record of shame, which their children would gladly blot out with tears. For us it will be only another obstacle vanquished in the battle for Civilization, where, unhappily, false friends are mingled with open enemies. Even if the cause seem for a while imperilled by foreign powers, yet our duties are none the less urgent. If the pressure be great, the resistance must be greater. Nor can there be any retreat. Come weal or woe, this is the place for us to stand.
I know not if a republic like ours can count even now upon the certain friendship of any European power, unless it be the Republic of William Tell. The very name is unwelcome to the full-blown representatives of monarchical Europe, who forget how proudly, even in modern history, Venice bore the title of Serenissima Respublica. It is for us to change all this. Our consistent example will be enough. Thus far we have been known chiefly through that vital force which Slavery could only degrade, but not subdue. Now, at last, by the death of Slavery, will the Republic begin to live. For what is life without Liberty? Stretching from ocean to ocean, teeming with population, bountiful in resources of all kinds, rejoicing in that righteousness which exalteth a nation, and thrice happy in universal enfranchisement, it will be more than conqueror. Nothing too vast for its power, nothing too minute for its care. Triumphant over the foulest wrong ever inflicted, after the bloodiest war ever waged, it will know the majesty of Right and the beauty of Peace, prepared always to uphold the one and to cultivate the other. Strong in its own mighty stature, filled with all the fulness of a new life, and covered with a panoply of renown, it will confess that no dominion is of value that does not contribute to human happiness. Born in this latter day and child of its own struggles, without ancestral claim, but heir of all the ages, it will stand forth to assert the dignity of man, and wherever any member of the Human Family can be succored, there its voice will reach,—as the voice of Cromwell reached across France, even to the persecuted mountaineers of the Alps. Such will be this Republic, upstart among the nations. Ay! as steam-engine, telegraph, and chloroform are upstart. Comforter and helper like these, it can know no bounds to its empire over a willing world. But the first stage is the death of Slavery.