In discussing this question with proper frankness, I shall develop and vindicate that policy of which the President’s Proclamation is the herald, and to which his Administration is publicly pledged. The Administration belongs to us, and we belong to the Administration. My aim is to bring the Administration and the people nearer together, by showing the ground on which they must meet, for the sake of the Republic, and that it may not perish beneath felon blows.
I start, of course, with the assumption, in which you will all unite, that this war must be brought to a close. It must not be allowed to drag its slow length along, bloody, and fruitless except with death. Lives enough have been sacrificed, graves enough have been filled, homes enough have been emptied, patriot soldiers enough have been sent back halt and maimed with one leg or one arm, tears enough have been shed. Nor is this all; treasure enough has been expended. It is common to think only of the national debt, now swelling to unnatural proportions; but this will be small by the side of the fearful sum-total of loss from destruction of property, derangement of business, and change of productive to unproductive industry. Even if we do not accept the conclusions of an ingenious calculator who places this damage at ten thousand millions of dollars, we must confess that it is an immensity, which, like the numbers representing sidereal distances, the imagination refuses to grasp. To stop this infinity of waste there must be peace; to stop this cruel slaughter there must be peace. In the old wars between King and Parliament, which rent England, the generous Falkland cried from his soul, “Peace! peace!” and history gratefully records his words. Never did he utter this cry with more earnestness than I do now. But how shall the blessing be secured?
I start with the further assumption, that there can be no separation of these States. Foreign nations may predict what Rebels threaten, but this result is now impossible. Pray, good Sirs, where will you run the boundary line? Shall it be the cotton limit? Shall it embrace Virginia in whole or part? How about Tennessee? Kentucky? Or shall it be the most natural line of cleavage, the slave line? And how will you adjust the navigation of the Mississippi, and the whole question of Slavery? And what principles, commercial and political, shall be established between the two Governments? But do not deceive yourselves into the idea that peace founded on separation can be anything but a delusion and a snare. Separation is interminable war, “never ending, still beginning,”—worse than the forays which ravaged the Scottish border, or the Tartar invasions which harassed China until its famous wall was built, fifteen hundred miles long, and so thick that six horsemen ride upon it abreast. War will be chronic, and we must all sleep on our arms. Better that it be all at once, rather than diffused over a generation. If blood must be shed, better for a year than for an age.
But if there be anything in the Monroe doctrine, if we could not accommodate ourselves to the foothold of Europe upon this continent, how can we recognize on our borders a malignant Slave empire, with Slavery as its boasted corner-stone, constituting what Shakespeare calls “an impudent nation,” embittered and enraged against us, without law, without humanity, and without morals,—a mighty Blue-Beard’s Chamber,—an enormous House of Ill-Fame? We would not allow the old Kingdom of the Assassins to be revived at our side. But wherein are our Rebels better?
Nor can you recognize such separation without delivering over this cherished Union to chaos. If the Rebel States are allowed to go, what can be retained? It is true, there can be no constitutional right to break up the Constitution, but the precedent unhappily recognized would unsettle this whole fabric of States. Therefore, fellow-citizens, there can be no separation. But how to prevent it,—in other words, how to hamstring the Rebellion and conquer a peace,—this is the question.
The Rebels are in arms, aroused, at home, on their own soil, and resolved never to yield. Nothing less than independence will satisfy them: if the war continues, I know not that they will be content with this. Two policies are presented on our side,—one looking primarily to Rebel conciliation, and the other looking primarily to Rebel submission. Both have the same elements, although in diverse order. The first begins with conciliation in order to end with Rebel submission, which is cart before horse. The second begins with Rebel submission in order to end with conciliation. The question is simply this,—Whether conciliation shall precede or follow submission? Conciliation is always proper, where possible; but, at this stage, it is obviously impossible. If anybody believes that now any word or act of conciliation, any forbearance on our part, any hesitation in exercise of the sternest Rights of War, will help us to victory or contribute to put down the Rebellion, let me not enter into that man’s counsels, for they can end in nothing but shame and disaster. I find that they who talk most against coercion of Rebels and coercion of States are indifferent to the coercion of four million people, men, women, and children, to work without wages under discipline of the lash. Without hesitation I say that the Rebels must be subdued,—call it coercion or subjugation, whichever you please: our war has this direct object. With victory will come conciliation, clemency, amnesty. But first victory.