WAR.
War, Sir, is the saddest chapter of history. It is known as “the last reason of kings.” Alas, that it should ever be the reason of a Republic! “There can be no such thing, my Lords, as a little war for a great nation,” was the exclamation of the Duke of Wellington,[24] which I heard from his own lips, as he protested against what to some seemed petty. Gathering all the vigor of his venerable form, the warrior seasoned in a hundred fights cried out, and all within the sound of his voice felt the testimony. The reason is obvious. War, whether great or little, whether on the fields of France or the island of San Domingo, is war, over which hovers not only Death, but every demon of wrath. Nor is war merely conflict on a chosen field; it is force employed by one nation against another, or in the affairs of another,—as in the direct menace to Hayti, and the intermeddling between Baez and Cabral. There may be war without battle. Hercules conquered by manifest strength the moment he appeared on the ground, so that his club rested unused. And so our Navy has thus far conquered without a shot; but its presence in the waters of Hayti and Dominica was war.