CHAPTER XI.
Castlereagh’s long note of April 10, communicated by Foster to the American government, contained a paragraph defining the British doctrine of retaliation:—
“What Great Britain always avowed was her readiness to rescind her orders as soon as France rescinded, absolutely and unconditionally, her decrees. She never engaged to repeal those orders as affecting America alone, leaving them in force against other States, upon condition that France would except, singly and especially, America from the operation of her decrees. She could not do so without the grossest injustice to her allies, as well as all other neutral nations; much less could she do so upon the supposition that the special exception in favor of America was to be expressly granted by France, as it has been hitherto tacitly accepted by America, upon conditions utterly subversive of the most important and indisputable maritime rights of the British empire.”
Long afterward Madison objected[172] to the common accounts of the war, that they brought too little into view “the more immediate impulse to it” given by this formal notice communicated to him officially by Foster, which left no choice between war and degradation. He regarded this notice as making further discussion impossible. His idea was perhaps too strongly asserted, for Foster offered, under other instructions, a new and important concession,—that England should give up altogether her system of licensing trade with the Continent, and in its place should enforce a rigorous blockade;[173] but Madison and Monroe declined listening to any offer that did not admit in principle the right of the United States to trade with every European country.[174] Thus at the last moment the dispute seemed to narrow itself to the single point of belligerent right to blockade a coast.
Acting at once on the theory that Castlereagh’s instructions of April 10 gave the last formal notice intended by the British government, President Madison prepared a Message recommending an immediate declaration of war. This Message was sent to Congress June 1; the two Houses instantly went into secret session, and the Message was read. No one could dispute the force of Madison’s long recital of British outrages. For five years, the task of finding excuses for peace had been more difficult than that of proving a casus belli; but some interest still attached to the arrangement and relative weight of the many American complaints.
Madison, inverting the order of complaints previously alleged, began by charging that British cruisers had been “in the continued practice of violating the American flag on the great highway of nations, and of seizing and carrying off persons sailing under it.” The charge was amply proved, was not denied, and warranted war; but this was the first time that the Government had alleged impressment as its chief grievance, or had announced, either to England or to America, the intention to fight for redress,—and England might fairly complain that she had received no notice of intended war on such ground. The second complaint alleged that British cruisers also violated the peace of the coasts, and harassed entering and departing commerce. This charge was equally true and equally warranted war, but it was open to the same comment as that made upon the first. The third grievance on which the President had hitherto founded his coercive measures consisted in “pretended blockades, without the presence of an adequate force and sometimes without the practicability of applying one,” by means of which American commerce had been plundered on every sea,—a practice which had come to its highest possible development in the fourth grievance, the sweeping system of blockades known as the Orders in Council. These four main heads of complaint covered numbers of irritating consequences, but no other separate charge was alleged, beyond an insinuation that the hostile spirit of the Indians was connected with their neighborhood to Canada.
On the four great grievances thus defined every American could in theory agree; but these admitted wrongs had hitherto been endured as a matter of expediency, rather than resort to war; and the opposition still stood on the ground that had been so obstinately held by Jefferson,—that war, however just, was inexpedient. If union in the war policy was to be hoped, the President must rather prove its expediency than its justice. Even from his own point of view, two doubts of expediency required fresh attention. For the first time, England showed distinct signs of giving way; while on the other hand France showed only the monomania of insisting on her decrees, even to the point of conquering Russia. In the face of two such movements, the expediency of war with England became more than ever doubtful; and if the President wished for harmony, he must remove these doubts. This he did not attempt, further than by alluding to the sense of Castlereagh’s late despatch, as yet not in his possession. What was still more remarkable, he said nothing in regard to the contract with France, which since November, 1809, he had made the ground for every measure of compulsion against England. Indeed, not only was the contract ignored, but if any meaning could be placed on his allusions to France, the theory of contract seemed at last to be formally abandoned.
“Having presented this view of the relations of the United States with Great Britain, and of the solemn alternative growing out of them, I proceed to remark that the communications last made to Congress on the subject of our relations with France will have shown that since the revocation of her decrees, as they violated the neutral rights of the United States, her government has authorized illegal captures by its privateers and public ships; and that other outrages have been practised on our vessels and our citizens. It will have been seen, also, that no indemnity had been provided, or satisfactorily pledged, for the extensive spoliations committed under the violent and retrospective orders of the French government against the property of our citizens, seized within the jurisdiction of France. I abstain at this time from recommending to the consideration of Congress definite measures with respect to that nation.”
The war of 1812 was chiefly remarkable for the vehemence with which, from beginning to end, it was resisted and thwarted by a very large number of citizens who were commonly considered, and who considered themselves, by no means the least respectable, intelligent, or patriotic part of the nation. That the war was as just and necessary as any war ever waged, seemed so evident to Americans of another generation that only with an effort could modern readers grasp the reasons for the bitter opposition of large and respectable communities which left the government bankrupt, and nearly severed the Union; but if students of national history can bear with patience the labor of retaining in mind the threads of negotiation which President Madison so thoroughly tangled before breaking, they can partially enter into the feelings of citizens who held themselves aloof from Madison’s war. In June, 1812, the reasons for declaring war on Great Britain, though strong enough, were weaker than they had been in June, 1808, or in January, 1809. In the interval the British government had laid aside the arrogant and defiant tones of Canning’s diplomacy; had greatly modified the Orders in Council; had offered further modifications; and had atoned for the “Chesapeake” outrage. In 1807 England would have welcomed a war with the United States; in 1812 she wanted peace, and yielded much to secure it. In 1808 America was almost unanimous, her government still efficient, well supplied with money, and little likely to suffer from war; in 1812 the people were greatly divided, the government had been weakened, and the Treasury was empty. Even Gallatin, who in 1809 had been most decided for war, was believed in 1812 to wish and to think that it might be avoided. Probably four fifths of the American people held the same opinion. Not merely had the situation in every other respect changed for the worse, but the moral convictions of the country were outraged by the assertion of a contract with Napoleon—in which no one believed—as the reason for forcing religious and peaceful citizens into what they regarded as the service of France.
The war Message of June 1 rather strengthened than removed grounds of opposition. The President alleged but one reason for thinking war expedient at that moment rather than at another; but when in after years he insisted that Castlereagh’s instructions were the immediate cause which precluded further negotiation, he admitted his own mistake, and presumed that had Congress known what was then passing in England the declaration of war would have been suspended and negotiations renewed.[175] Such a succession of mistakes, admitted one after another almost as soon as they were made, might well give to Madison’s conduct the air so often attributed to it, of systematic favor to Napoleon and equally systematic hostility to England.
The House went at once into secret session; the Message was referred to the Committee of Foreign Relations; and two days afterward, June 3, Calhoun brought in a report recommending an immediate appeal to arms. As a history of the causes which led to this result, Calhoun’s report was admirable, and its clearness of style and statement forced comparisons not flattering to the President’s Message; but as an argument for the immediate necessity of war, the report like the Message contented itself with bare assertions. “The United States must support their character and station among the nations of the earth, or submit to the most shameful degradation.” Calhoun’s arguments were commonly close in logic, and avoided declamation; but in the actual instance neither he nor his followers seemed confident in the strength of their reasoning.
After the House had listened in secret session, June 3, to the reading of this report, Josiah Quincy moved that the debate should be public. The demand seemed reasonable. That preliminary debates should be secret might be proper, but that war with any Power, and most of all with England, should be declared in secret could not be sound policy, while apart from any question of policy the secrecy contradicted the professions of the party in power. Perhaps no single act, in a hundred years of American history, showed less regard for personal and party consistency than the refusal by the Republicans of 1812 to allow society either rights or privileges in regard to the declaration of war upon England. Quite apart from military advantages to be hoped from secrecy, Henry Clay and his friends were weary of debate and afraid of defeat. Only a few days before, May 29, Clay forced Randolph from the floor by tactics which showed that no more discussion was to be allowed. The secret session gave the Speaker absolute power, and annihilated opposition. By seventy-six votes to forty-six, the House rejected Quincy’s motion; and a similar motion by Randolph shared the same fate.
This demand being refused, the minority declined further discussion. They said that any act of theirs which admitted the validity of what they held to be a flagrant abuse of power could do no good, and might create a dangerous precedent. Henceforward they contented themselves with voting. On the same day Calhoun presented the bill declaring war against England, and on the second reading the opposition swelled to forty-five votes; while of the Republican majority, numbering about one hundred and five members, only seventy-six could be brought to the test. June 4 the third reading was carried by a vote of seventy-eight to forty-five, and the same day the bill passed by a vote of seventy-nine to forty-nine.
Proverbially wars are popular at their beginning; commonly, in representative governments, they are declared by aid of some part of the opposition. In the case of the War of 1812 the party in power, instead of gaining strength by the declaration, lost about one fourth of its votes, and the opposition actually gained nearly one fifth of the Administration’s strength. In the Senate the loss was still greater. There too the President’s Message was debated in secret, but the proceedings were very deliberate. A select committee, with Senator Anderson of Tennessee at its head, took charge of the Message, and consumed a week in studying it. June 8 the committee reported the House bill with amendments. June 11 the Senate, by a vote of seventeen to thirteen, returned the bill to the committee for further amendment. June 12 the committee reported the amendments as instructed. The Senate discussed them, was equally divided, and accordingly threw out its own amendments. June 15 the Senate voted the third reading of the House bill by a vote of nineteen to thirteen. June 16, after a strong speech for delay from Senator James A. Bayard, the Senate again adjourned without action; and only June 18, after two weeks of secret discussion, did the bill pass. Nineteen senators voted in its favor; thirteen in opposition. Samuel Smith, Giles, and Leib, the three Republican senators most openly hostile to Madison, voted with the majority. Except Pennsylvania, the entire representation of no Northern State declared itself for the war; except Kentucky, every State south of the Potomac and the Ohio voted for the declaration. Not only was the war to be a party measure, but it was also sectional; while the Republican majority, formerly so large, was reduced to dependence on the factious support of Smith, Giles, and Leib.
The bill with its amendments was at once returned to the House and passed. Without a moment’s delay the President signed it, and the same day, June 18, 1812, the war began.
“The President’s proclamation was issued yesterday,” wrote Richard Rush, the comptroller, to his father, June 20;[176] ... “he visited in person—a thing never known before—all the offices of the departments of war and the navy, stimulating everything in a manner worthy of a little commander-in-chief, with his little round hat and huge cockade.”
In resorting to old-fashioned methods of violence, Congress had also to decide whether to retain or to throw away its weapons of peaceful coercion. The Non-importation Act stopped importations from England. If war should be considered as taking the place of non-importation, it would have the curious result of restoring trade with England. Opinions were almost as hotly divided on the question of war with, or war without, non-importation as on the question of war and peace itself; while even this detail of policy was distorted by the too familiar interference of Napoleon,—for the non-importation was a part of his system, and its retention implied alliance with him, while the admission of English merchandise would be considered by him almost an act of war. The non-importation was known to press severely on the industries of England, but it threatened to paralyze America. In the absence of taxation, nothing but the admission of British goods into the United States could so increase the receipts of the Treasury as to supply the government with its necessary resources. Thus, two paths lay open. Congress might admit British goods, and by doing so dispense with internal taxes, relieve the commercial States, and offend France; or might shut out British goods, disgust the commercial States, double the burden of the war to America, but distress England and please Napoleon.
War having been declared June 18, on June 19 Langdon Cheves introduced, from the Committee of Ways and Means, a bill partially suspending the Non-importation Act. He supported his motion by a letter from Gallatin, accepting this bill as an alternative to the tax bills. On the same day news arrived of more American vessels burned by French frigates. Chaos seemed beyond control. War with England was about to restore commerce with her; alliance with France was a state of war with her. The war party proposed to depend on peace taxes at the cost of France their ally, in the interests of England their enemy; the peace party called for war taxes to discredit the war; both parties wanted trade with England with whom they were at war; while every one was displeased with the necessity of assisting France, the only ally that America possessed in the world. Serurier went to the Secretary of State to discuss this extraordinary situation, but found Monroe in no happy temper.[177]
“He began by complaining to me of what, for that matter, I knew already,—that a considerable number of new American ships, going to Spain and Portugal and returning, had been very recently burned by our frigates, and that others had been destroyed on the voyage even to England. The Secretary of State on this occasion, and with bitterness, renewed to me his complaints and those of the Government and of Congress, whose discontent he represented as having reached its height. I am, Monseigneur, as weary of hearing these eternal grumblings as of having to trouble you with them; but I think myself obliged to transmit to you whatever is said of an official character. Mr. Monroe averred that for his part, as Secretary of State, since he had never ceased down to this moment to maintain the repeal of our decrees, he found himself suddenly compromised in the face of his friends and of the public, and he must admit he had almost lost the hope of an arrangement with us. Such were, Monseigneur, his expressions; after which he retraced to me the system that the Administration had never ceased pursuing with constancy and firmness for eighteen months, and the last act of which had at length been what I had seen, a formal declaration of war against England by the republic,—‘at a moment,’ he added, ‘when it feels ill-assured of France, and is so ill-treated by her.’ He finished at last by saying to me, with a sort of political coquetry, that he was among his friends obliged to admit that they had been too weak toward France, and that perhaps they had been too quick in regard to England.”
Serurier wrote that the bitterness against France was really such as would have caused a declaration of war against her as well as against England, if the Administration had not stopped the movement in Congress; nothing prevented the double war except the military difficulties in its way. At the moment when, June 23, the French minister was writing in these terms to the Duc de Bassano, the House of Representatives was considering the action he feared. Cheves had proposed to modify the non-importation,—the Federalists moved to repeal it altogether; and although they were defeated that day in committee, when Cheves’s bill came before the House no less a champion than Calhoun rose to advocate the reopening of trade.
Whatever Calhoun in those days did, was boldly and well done; but his speech of June 24, 1812, against commercial restrictions, was perhaps the boldest and the best of his early efforts. Neither great courage nor much intelligence was needed to support war, from the moment war became a party measure; but an attack on the system of commercial restriction was a blow at Madison, which belittled Jefferson, and threw something like contempt on the Republican party from its beginning twenty years before, down to the actual moment. How gently Calhoun did this, and yet how firmly he laid his hands on the rein that was to guide his party into an opposite path, could be seen in his short speech.
“The restrictive system, as a mode of resistance,” he said, “and a means of obtaining a redress of our wrongs, has never been a favorite one with me. I wish not to censure the motives which dictated it, or to attribute weakness to those who first resorted to it for a restoration of our rights.... I object to the restrictive system, and for the following reasons,—because it does not suit the genius of our people, or that of our government, or the geographical character of our country.”
With a single gesture, this young statesman of the new school swept away the statesmanship of Jefferson and Madison, and waved aside the strongest convictions of his party; but he did it with such temperate statement, and with so serious a manner, that although he said in effect little less than had been said for years by Federalists and enemies, he seemed rather to lead than to oppose. “We have had a peace like a war: in the name of heaven let us not have the only thing that is worse,—a war like a peace.” That his voice should be at once obeyed was not to be expected; but so many Republican members followed Calhoun, Cheves, and Lowndes, that the Federalists came within three votes of carrying their point; and so equally divided was the House that, June 25, when the Federalists returned to the attack and asked for a committee to report a bill repealing the non-importation, the House divided sixty against sixty, and the Speaker’s vote alone defeated the motion.
Greatly to the French minister’s relief the storm passed over; but the heroic decision of Congress not only to punish England, but to punish itself by deprivation of everything English,—not only to fight Napoleon’s battles, but also to fight them under every disadvantage that Napoleon chose to exact,—could not but increase the vehemence of Northern hatred against the war, as it was certain to increase Southern hatred against taxes. Gallatin knew not what to expect. June 26 he wrote to a friend,[178]—
“We have not money enough to last till January 1 next, and General Smith is using every endeavor to run us aground by opposing everything,—treasury notes, double duties, etc. The Senate is so nearly divided, and the division so increased by that on the war question, that we can hardly rely on carrying anything.”
Although Gallatin caused the necessary bills for the war taxes to be reported to the House June 26, he had no idea of passing them, and was not surprised when by a vote of seventy-two to forty-six the House postponed them to the next session, Calhoun and Cheves voting with the Federalists against postponement. This chronic helplessness could not last in face of war without stopping government itself; and Congress, with a bad grace, yielded at last to necessity. Even while Gallatin was complaining, the Senate passed the bill for issuing five millions in treasury notes. June 30 it passed the bill doubling the duties on imports. In rapid succession, such other bills as were most needed by Government were put upon their passage; and July 6 the exhausted Congress adjourned, glad to escape its struggle with the novel problems of war.
In American history few sessions of Congress left a deeper mark than that of 1811–12; but in the midst of the war excitement several Acts of high importance almost escaped public notice. As far-reaching as the declaration of war itself was the Act, approved April 8, 1812, declaring the State of Louisiana to be admitted into the Union. Representatives of the Eastern States once more protested against the admission of new territory without consulting the States themselves; but Congress followed up the act by one more open to question. West Florida had remained hitherto in the condition of its military occupation a year before. Congress had then found the problem too hard to solve on any theory of treaty or popular rights; but in the excitement of the war fever Government acted on the new principle that West Florida, which had been seized because it was a part of Louisiana, should be treated as though it were a conquered territory. An Act of Congress, approved April 14, divided the district in halves at the Pearl River, and annexed the western half—against the expressed wishes of its citizens[179]—to the new State of Louisiana; the eastern portion was incorporated in the Mississippi Territory by an Act approved May 14, 1812.
To the territory of West Florida the United States had no right. Their ownership of the country between the Iberville and the Perdido was a usurpation which no other country was bound to regard; indeed, at the moment when Congress subjected the shores of Mobile Bay to the Mississippi Territorial government, Mobile was still garrisoned by a Spanish force and ruled by the Spanish people. The case of West Florida was the more curious, because in after years the United States government, in order to obtain a title good beyond its own borders, accepted the territory as a formal grant from the King of Spain. Ferdinand VII., the grantor and only rightful interpreter of his own grant,[180] inserted an article into the treaty of 1819 which was intended by him to discredit, and did in fact ignore, the usurpations of the United States: “His Catholic Majesty cedes to the United States, in full property and sovereignty, all the territories which belong to him situated to the eastward of the Mississippi, known by the names of East and West Florida.”[181] According to the Acts of Congress, no territory known as West Florida belonged to the King of Spain, but had been ceded to the United States as a part of Louisiana. The admission by treaty in 1819 that Ferdinand VII. was still sovereign over any territory known by the name of West Florida, threw discredit on the previous acts of President and Congress, and following the confusion due to the contradictory systems they had pursued, created a chaos which neither proclamations, Acts of Congress, treaties, nor decisions of the courts, numerous and positive as they might be, could reduce to order. History cannot tell by what single title the United States hold West Florida.
East Florida threatened to become a worse annoyance. In January, 1811, as the story has told, the President, under authority of a secret Act of Congress, sent George Matthews and John McKee to take possession, under certain circumstances, of Mobile and Fernandina. Their written instructions were singularly loose.[182] In general they were to take possession of East Florida only in case the Spanish authorities or “the existing local authority” should wish it, or in case of actual British interference; but their conduct was to be “regulated by the dictates of their own judgments, on a close view and accurate knowledge of the precise state of things there, and of the real disposition of the Spanish government.” Besides these written instructions, Matthews professed to be guided by verbal explanations of a stronger character. With the precedent of Baton Rouge before his eyes, Matthews could not but assume that he was sent to St. Mary’s for a practical object; and he found there a condition of affairs that seemed to warrant him in acting with energy. St. Mary’s River was filled with British vessels engaged in smuggling British merchandise into the United States in defiance of the Non-importation Act; while Amelia Island, on which the town of Fernandina stood, was a smuggling depot, and the Spanish authority an empty form, useful only for the protection of illicit trade.
Matthews’s official reports assumed as a matter of course an intention in his Government to possess itself of East Florida. His letters made no disguise of his own acts or intentions. After six months of inquiry, he wrote to Secretary Monroe, Aug. 3, 1811, a plain account of the measures necessary to be taken:[183]—
“I ascertained that the quiet possession of East Florida could not be obtained by an amicable negotiation with the powers that exist there; ... that the inhabitants of the province are ripe for revolt. They are, however, incompetent to effect a thorough revolution without external aid. If two hundred stand of arms and fifty horsemen’s swords were in their possession, I am confident they would commence the business, and with a fair prospect of success. These could be put into their hands by consigning them to the commanding officer at this post, subject to my order. I shall use the most discreet management to prevent the United States being committed; and although I cannot vouch for the event, I think there would be but little danger.”
In October, Matthews communicated freely his plans and wishes to Senator Crawford, and commissioned him to explain them to the Government.[184] The President was fully acquainted with them, and during six months offered no objection, but waited in silence for Matthews to effect the revolution thus prepared.
Matthews carried out his mission by following the West Florida precedent as he understood it. March 16, 1812, some two hundred self-styled insurgents crossed the river, landed on Amelia Island, and summoned the garrison of Fernandina to surrender. At the same time the American gunboats, stationed on the river, took a position to watch the movement. The Spanish commandant sent to inquire whether the American gunboats meant to assist the insurgents, and receiving an answer in the affirmative, he capitulated to the so-called patriots.[185] Independence was declared; an independent flag was raised; and when this formality ended, the patriots summoned General Matthews, who crossed the river with a company of the regular army, and March 19 took possession of Amelia Island, subject to the President’s approval.
Matthews supposed his measures to be warranted by his instructions, and thought the Government bound to sustain him; but the Government took an opposite course. April 4 Monroe wrote to Matthews[186] disavowing the seizure of Amelia Island, and referring to the precedent of Baton Rouge as the proper course to have followed. “The United States did not take possession until after the Spanish authority had been subverted by a revolutionary proceeding, and the contingency of the country being thrown into foreign hands had forced itself into view.” Matthews failed to see why one “revolutionary proceeding” was not as good as another, or why the fiction of foreign interference might not serve as well at Fernandina as at Baton Rouge. He was excessively indignant, and believed his disavowal to be due to the publication of John Henry’s letters, which had made the President suddenly sensitive to the awkwardness of doing openly acts which he imputed as a crime in the governor-general of Canada to imagine. Senator Crawford afterward wrote to Monroe[187] that this impression was by no means confined to Matthews; indeed, Crawford himself seemed to share it. Yet governments were not bound to make explanations to their instruments; and Matthews was told only that he had mistaken the President’s wishes, and that his instructions were meant in good faith to require that the Spaniards should of their own accord ask to surrender their territory to the United States.
April 24 Madison wrote to Jefferson:[188] “In East Florida Matthews has been playing a strange comedy in the face of common-sense as well as of his instructions. His extravagances place us in the most distressing dilemma.” The dilemma consisted in the President’s wish to maintain possession of Amelia Island, and the difficulty of doing it. In explaining the matter to the French minister, Monroe made no secret of the President’s wishes:[189]—
“Mr. Monroe, in communicating the facts to me at one of our last conversations, told me that General Matthews had gone beyond his orders; that he was told to observe only; and in case a third Power, which could be only England, should present itself to occupy the island, he was to prevent it if possible, and in case of necessity repulse the disembarking troops. He added that nevertheless, now that things had reached their present condition, there would be more danger in retreating than in advancing; and so, while disavowing the General’s too precipitate conduct, they would maintain the occupation.”
This decision required some double dealing. April 10 Monroe wrote[190] to the governor of Georgia, requesting him to take Matthews’s place and to restore Amelia Island to the Spanish authorities; but this order was for public use only, and not meant to be carried into effect. May 27 Monroe wrote again,[191] saying:—
“In consequence of the compromitment of the United States to the inhabitants, you have been already instructed not to withdraw the troops unless you find that it may be done consistently with their safety, and to report to the Government the result of your conferences with the Spanish authorities, with your opinion of their views, holding in the mean time the ground occupied.”
Governor Mitchell would have been a poor governor and still poorer politician, had he not read such instructions as an order to hold Amelia Island as long as possible. Instead of re-establishing the Spanish authority at Fernandina, he maintained the occupation effected by Matthews.[192] June 19, the day after declaring war against England, the House took up the subject on the motion of Troup of Georgia, and in secret session debated a bill authorizing the President not to withdraw the troops, but to extend his possession over the whole country of East and West Florida, and to establish a government there.[193] June 25, by a vote of seventy to forty-eight, the House passed this bill, which in due time went successfully through all its stages in the Senate until July 3, when the vote was taken on its passage. Only then three Northern Republicans,—Bradley of Vermont, Howell of Rhode Island, and Leib of Pennsylvania,—joining Giles, Samuel Smith, and the Federalists, defeated, by a vote of sixteen to fourteen, this bill which all the President’s friends in both Houses supported as an Administration measure, and upon which the President promised to act with decision; but even after its failure the President maintained possession of Fernandina, with no other authority than the secret Act of Congress which had been improperly made by Matthews the ground of usurping possession.
From the pacific theories of 1801 to the military methods of 1812 was a vast stride. When Congress rose, July 6, 1812, the whole national frontier and coast from Prairie du Chien to Eastport, from Eastport to St. Mary’s, from St. Mary’s to New Orleans,—three thousand miles, incapable of defence,—was open to the attacks of powerful enemies; while the Government at Washington had taken measures for the military occupation of the vast foreign territories northward of the Lakes and southward to the Gulf of Mexico.