In this spirit I would now approach Spain. Who can forget that great historic monarchy, on whose empire, encircling the globe, the sun never set? Patron of that renowned navigator through whom she became the discoverer of this hemisphere, her original sway within it surpassed that of any other power. At last her extended possessions on the main, won by Cortés and Pizarro, loosed themselves from her grasp, to take their just place in the Family of Nations. Cuba and Porto Rico, rich islands of the Gulf, remained. And now Cuban insurgents demand independence also. For months they have engaged in deadly conflict with the Spanish power. Ravaged provinces and bloodshed are the witnesses. The beautiful island, where sleeps Christopher Columbus, with the epitaph that he gave to Castile and Leon a new world,[107] is fast becoming a desert, while the nation to which he gave the new world is contending for its last possession there. On this simple statement two questions occur: first, as to the duty of Spain; and, secondly, as to the duty of the United States.
Unwelcome as it may be to that famous Castilian pride which has played so lofty a part in modern Europe, Spain must not refuse to see the case in its true light; nor can she close her eyes to the lesson of history. She must recall how the Thirteen American Colonies achieved independence against all the power of England,—how all her own colonies on the American main achieved independence against her own most strenuous efforts,—how at this moment England is preparing to release her Northern colonies from their condition of dependence; and recalling these examples, it will be proper for her to consider if they do not illustrate a tendency of all colonies, which was remarked by an illustrious Frenchman, even before the independence of the United States. Never was anything more prophetic in politics than when Turgot, in 1750, speaking of the Phœnician colonies in Greece and Asia Minor, said: “Colonies are like fruits, which hold to the tree only until their maturity: when sufficient for themselves, they did that which Carthage afterwards did,—that which some day America will do.”[108] These most remarkable words of the philosopher-statesman will be found in his Discourse at the Sorbonne; and now for their application. Has not Cuba reached his condition of maturity? Is it not sufficient for itself? At all events, is victory over a colony contending for independence worth the blood and treasure it will cost? These are serious questions, which can be answered properly only by putting aside all passion and prejudice of empire, and calmly confronting the actual condition of things. Nor must the case of Cuba be confounded for a moment with our wicked Rebellion, having for its object the dismemberment of a Republic, to found a new power with Slavery as its vaunted corner-stone. For myself, I cannot doubt, that, in the interest of both parties, Cuba and Spain, and in the interest of humanity also, the contest should be closed. This is my judgment on the facts, so far as known to me. Cuba must be saved from its bloody delirium, or little will be left for the final conqueror. Nor can the enlightened mind fail to see that the Spanish power on this island is an anachronism. The day of European colonies has passed,—at least in this hemisphere, where the rights of man were first proclaimed and self-government first organized. A governor from Europe, nominated by a crown, is a constant witness against these fundamental principles.
As the true course of Spain is clear, so to my mind is the true course of the United States equally clear. It is to avoid involving ourselves in any way. Enough of war have we had, without heedlessly assuming another; enough has our commerce been driven from the ocean, without heedlessly arousing another enemy; enough of taxation are we compelled to bear, without adding another mountain. Two policies were open to us at the beginning of the insurrection. One was to unite our fortunes with the insurgents, assuming the responsibilities of such an alliance, with the hazard of letters-of-marque issued by Spain and of public war. I say nothing of the certain consequences in expenditure and in damages. A Spanish letter-of-marque would not be less destructive than the English Alabama. The other policy was to make Spain feel that we wish her nothing but good,—and that, especially since the expulsion of her royal dynasty, we cherish for her a cordial and kindly sympathy. It is said that republics are ungrateful; but I would not forget that at the beginning of our Revolutionary struggle our fathers were aided by her money, as afterwards by her arms, and that her great statesman, Florida Blanca, by his remarkable energies determined the organization of that Armed Neutrality in Northern Europe which turned the scale against England,[109]—so that John Adams declared, “We owe the blessings of peace to the Armed Neutrality.”[110] I say nothing of the motives by which Spain was then governed. It is something that in our day of need she lent us a helping hand.
It is evident, that, adopting the first policy, we should be powerless, except as an enemy. The second policy may enable us to exercise an important influence.
The more I reflect upon the actual condition of Spain, the more I am satisfied that the true rule for us is non-intervention, except in the way of good offices. This ancient kingdom is now engaged in comedy and tragedy. You have heard of Hunting the Slipper. The Spanish comedy is Hunting a King. The Spanish tragedy is sending armies against Cuba. I do not wish to take part in the comedy or the tragedy. If Spain is wise, she will give up both. Meanwhile we have a duty which is determined by International Law. To that venerable authority I repair. What that prescribes I follow.
By that law, as I understand it, nations are not left to any mere caprice. There is a rule of conduct which they must follow, subject always to just accountability where they depart from it. On ordinary occasions there is no question; for it is with nations as with individuals. It is only where the rule is obscure or precedents are uncertain that doubt arises, as with some persons now. Here I wish to be explicit. Belligerence is a “fact,” attested by evidence. If the “fact” does not exist, there is nothing to recognize. The fact cannot be invented or imagined; it must be proved. No matter what our sympathy, what the extent of our desires, we must look at the fact. There may be insurrection without reaching this condition, which is at least the half-way house to independence. The Hungarians, when they rose against Austria, obtained no such recognition, although they had large armies in the field, and Kossuth was their governor; the Poles, in repeated insurrections against Russia, obtained no such recognition, although the conflict made Europe vibrate; the Sepoys and Rajahs of India failed also, although for a time the English empire hung trembling; nor, in my opinion, were our slave-mad Rebels ever entitled to such recognition,—for, whatever the strength of the Rebellion on land, it remained, as in the case of Hungary, of Poland, of India, without those Prize Courts which are absolutely essential to recognition by foreign powers. A cruiser without accountability to Prize Courts is a lawless monster which civilized nations cannot sanction. Therefore the Prize Court is the condition-precedent; nor is this all. If the Cuban insurgents have come within any of the familiar requirements, I have never seen the evidence. They are in arms, I know. But where are their cities, towns, provinces? where their government? where their ports? where their tribunals of justice? and where their Prize Courts? To put these questions is to answer them. How, then, is the “fact” of belligerence?
There is another point in the case, which is with me final. Even if they come within the prerequisites of International Law, I am unwilling to make any recognition of them so long as they continue to hold human beings as slaves, which I understand they now do. I am told that there was a decree in May last, purporting to be signed by Cespedes, abolishing slavery; then I am told of another decree in July, maintaining slavery. There is also the story of a pro-slavery constitution to be read at home, and an anti-slavery constitution to be read abroad. Nor is there any evidence that any decree or constitution has had any practical effect. In this uncertainty I shall wait, even if all other things are propitious. In any event there must be Emancipation.
On the recognition of belligerence there is much latitude of opinion,—some asserting that a nation may take this step whenever it pleases; but this pretension excludes the idea that belligerence is always a question of fact on the evidence. Undoubtedly an independent nation may do anything in its power, whenever it pleases,—but subject always to just accountability, if another suffers from what it does. This may be illustrated in the three different cases of war, independence, and belligerence. In each case the declaration is an exercise of high prerogative, inherent in every nation, and kindred to that of eminent domain; but a nation declaring war without just cause becomes a wrong-doer; a nation recognizing independence where it does not exist in fact becomes a wrong-doer; and so a nation recognizing belligerence where it does not exist in fact becomes a wrong-doer also. Any present uncertainty on this last point I attribute to the failure of precedents sufficiently clear and authoritative; but with me there is one rule in such a case which I cannot disobey. In the absence of any precise injunction, I do not hesitate to adopt that interpretation of International Law which most restricts war and all that makes for war,—believing that in this way I shall best promote civilization and obtain new security for international peace.