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.