1. I do not dwell on the shame that would cover our Republic, but I ask, on the threshold, how you would feel in abandoning to the tender mercies of the Rebellion all those who, from sentiment or conviction or condition, now look to the National Government as deliverer. This topic, it seems to me, has not been sufficiently impressed upon the country. Would that I could make it sink deep into your souls! There are the Unionists, shut up within the confines of the Rebellion, and unable to help themselves. They can do nothing, not even cry out, until the military power of the Rebellion is crushed. Let this be done, let the Rebel grip be unloosed, and you will hear their voices, as joyously and reverently they hail the national flag. And there, also, are the slaves, to whom the Rebellion is an immense, deep-moated, thick-walled, heavy-bolted Bastile, where a whole race is blinded, manacled, and outraged. But these, again, are powerless, so long as Rebel sentinels keep watch and ward over them. To these two classes in the Rebel States we have owed, from the beginning, a solemn duty, which can be performed only by perseverance to the end. The patriot Unionists, who have kept their loyalty in solitude and privation, like the early Christians concealed in catacombs, and also the slaves, who have been compelled to serve their cruel taskmasters, must not be sacrificed.
Perhaps there is no character in which the National Government may exult more truly than that of Deliverer. Rarely in history has such a duty, with its attendant glory, been so clearly imposed. The piety of early ages found vent in the Crusades, those wonderful enterprises of valor and travel, which exercised a transforming influence over modern civilization. But our war is not less important. It is a crusade, not to deliver the tomb, but to deliver the living temples of the Lord, and it is destined to exercise a transforming influence beyond any crusade in history.
2. If you agree to abandon patriots and slaves in the Rebel States, you will only begin your infinite difficulties. How determine the boundary-line to cleave this continent in twain? Where shall the god Terminus plant his stone? What States shall be left at the North in the light of Liberty? What States shall be consigned to the gloom of Slavery? Surely no swiftness of surrender can make you abandon Maryland, now redeemed by votes of citizen soldiers,—nor West Virginia, received as a Free State,—nor Missouri, which has been made the dark and bloody ground. And how about Kentucky, Tennessee, and Louisiana? There also is the Mississippi, once more free from source to sea. Surely this mighty river will not be compelled again to wear chains.
These inquiries simply open the difficulties in this endeavor. If there were any natural boundary, in itself a barrier and an altar, or if during long generations any Chinese wall had been built for three thousand miles across the continent, then perhaps there might be a dividing line. But Nature and civilization, by solemn decree, have fixed it otherwise, marking this broad land, from Northern lake to Southern gulf, for one Country, with one Liberty, one Constitution, and one Destiny.
3. If the boundary-line is settled, then will arise the many-headed question of terms and conditions. On what terms and conditions can peace be stipulated? Exulting Rebels, whose new empire is founded on the corner-stone of Slavery, will naturally exact promises for the rendition of fugitive slaves. Are you, who have just emancipated yourselves from this obligation, ready to renew it, and to commit again an inexpiable crime? If you do not, how can you expect peace? Then it will remain to determine the commercial relations between the two separate governments, with rights of transit and travel. If you think that Rebels, flushed with success, and scorning their defeated opponents, will come to any practical terms, any terms which will not leave our commerce and all engaged in it victims of outrage, you place trust in their moderation which circumstances thus far do not justify. The whole idea is little better than an excursion to the moon in a car drawn by geese, as described by the Spanish poet.
Long before the war, and especially in the discussions which preceded it, these Rebels were fiery and most unscrupulous. War has not made them less so. The moral sense which they wanted when it began has not been enkindled since. With such a people there is no chance of terms and conditions, except according to their lawless will. The first surrender on our part will be the signal to a long line of surrenders, each a catastrophe. Nothing too unreasonable or grinding. If our own national debt is not repudiated, theirs at least must be assumed.
4. Suppose the shameful sacrifice consummated, the impossible boundaries adjusted, and the illusive terms and conditions stipulated, do you imagine that you have obtained peace? Alas, no! Nothing of the sort. You may call it peace; but it will be war in disguise, ready to break forth in perpetual, chronic, bloody battle. Such an extended inland border, over which Slavery and Liberty scowl at each other, will be a constant temptation, not only to enterprises of smuggling, but to hostile incursions, so that our country will be obliged to sleep on its arms, ready to spring forward in self-defence. Every frontier town will be a St. Albans.[409] Military preparations, absorbing the resources of the people, will become permanent instead of temporary, and the arts of peace will yield to the arts of war. The national character will be changed, and this hospitable continent, no longer the prosperous home of the poor and friendless, thronging from the Old World, will become a repulsive scene of confusion and strife, while “each new day a gash is added to her wounds.”