It is one of the calamities of war, that, while it compels the employment of large means, it blunts the moral sense, and breeds too frequently an insensibility to the obligations incurred. A national debt shares for the time the exceptional character of war itself. Contracted hastily, it is little regarded except as a burden. At last, when business is restored and all things assume their natural proportions, it is recognized in its true character. The country accommodates itself to the pressure. This time is now at hand among us, if not arrested by disturbing influences. Unhappily, the demands of Public Faith are met by higgling and chaffering, and we are gravely reminded that the “bloated bond-holders” now expect more than they gave,—forgetting that they gave in the darkness of the war, at the appeal of the Nation, and to keep those armies in the field through which its existence was preserved,—forgetting also that among these bond-holders, now so foully stigmatized, were the poor, as well as the rich, all giving according to their means. It was not in the ordinary spirit of money-lending that those contributions were made. Love of country entered into them, and made them more than money. If the interest was considerable, it was only in proportion to the risk. Every loan at that time was a contract of bottomry on the Nation,—like money lent to a ship in a strange port, and conditioned on its arrival safe at home,—so that it failed entirely, if Slavery, by the aid of Foreign Powers, established its supremacy. God be praised, the enemy has been overcome! It remains now that we should overcome that other enemy, which, hardly less malignant than war itself, would despoil the Nation of its good name and take from it all the might of honesty. And here to every citizen, and especially to every legislator, I would address those incomparable words of Milton in his sonnet to Fairfax:—
“Oh, yet a nobler task awaits thy hand,
(For what can war but endless war still breed?)
Till truth and right from violence be freed,
And Public Faith cleared from the shameful brand
Of public fraud.”
The proposition to pay bonds in greenbacks becomes futile and fatuous, when it is considered that such an operation would be nothing more than the substitution of greenbacks for bonds, and not a payment of anything. The form of the debt would be changed, but the debt would remain. Of the twenty-five hundred millions which we now owe, whether in greenbacks or bonds, every dollar must be paid, sooner or later, or be ignobly repudiated. By paying the interest of the bonds in coin, instead of greenbacks, the annual increase of the debt to this extent is prevented. But the principal remains to be paid. If this be attempted in greenbacks, it will be by an issue far beyond all the demands of the currency. There will be a deluge of greenbacks. The country must suffer inconceivably under such a dispensation. The interest on the bonds may be stopped by the substitution, but the currency will be depreciated infinitely beyond any such dishonest saving. The country will be bankrupt. Inconvertible paper will overspread the land, to the exclusion of coin or any chance of coin for some time to come. Farewell then to specie payments! Greenbacks will be everywhere. The multitudinous rats that swam the Rhine and devoured Bishop Hatto in his tower were not more destructive. The cloud of locusts described by Milton as “warping on the eastern wind” and “darkening all the land of Nile,” were not more pestilential.
I am now brought to the practical question, to which I have already alluded: How the public burdens shall be lightened. Of course, in this work, the Public Faith, if kept sacred, will be a constant and omnipresent agency, powerful in itself, and powerful also in its reinforcement of all other agencies.