From the case of Spain I pass to the case of England, contenting myself with a brief explanation. On this subject I have never spoken except with pain, as I have been obliged to expose a great transgression. I hope to say nothing now which shall augment difficulties,—although, when I consider how British anger was aroused by an effort in another place,[111] judged by all who heard it most pacific in character, I do not know that even these few words may not be misinterpreted.
There can be no doubt that we received from England incalculable wrong,—greater, I have often said, than was ever before received by one civilized power from another, short of unjust war. I do not say this in bitterness, but in sadness. There can be no doubt, that, through English complicity, our carrying-trade was transferred to English bottoms,—our foreign commerce sacrificed, while our loss was England’s gain,—our blockade rendered more expensive,—and generally, that our war, with all its fearful cost of blood and treasure, was prolonged indefinitely. This terrible complicity began with the wrongful recognition of Rebel belligerence, under whose shelter pirate ships were built and supplies sent forth. All this was at the very moment of our mortal agony, in the midst of a struggle for national life; and it was done in support of Rebels whose single declared object of separate existence as a nation was Slavery, being in this respect clearly distinguishable from an established power where slavery is tolerated without being made the vaunted corner-stone. Such is the case. Who shall fix the measure of this great accountability? For the present it is enough to expose it. I make no demand,—not a dollar of money, not a word of apology. I show simply what England has done to us. It will be for her, on a careful review of the case, to determine what reparation to offer; it will be for the American people, on a careful review of the case, to determine what reparation to require. On this head I content myself with the aspiration that out of this surpassing wrong, and the controversy it has engendered, may come some enduring safeguard for the future, some landmark of Humanity. Then will our losses end in gain for all, while the Law of Nations is elevated. But I have little hope of any adequate settlement, until our case, in its full extent, is heard. In all controversies the first stage of justice is to understand the case; and sooner or later England must understand ours.
The English arguments, so far as argument can be found in the recent heats, have not in any respect impaired the justice of our complaint. Loudly it is said that there can be no sentimental damages, or damages for wounded feelings; and then our case is dismissed, as having nothing but this foundation. Now, without undertaking to say that there is no remedy in the case supposed, I wish it understood that our complaint is for damages traced directly to England. If the amount is unprecedented, so also is the wrong. The scale of damages is naturally in proportion to the scale of operations. Who among us doubts that these damages were received? Call them what you please, to this extent the nation lost. The records show how our commerce suffered, and witnesses without number testify how the blockade was broken and the war prolonged. Ask any of our great generals,—ask Sherman, Sheridan, Thomas, Meade, Burnside,—ask Grant. In view of this transcendent wrong, it is a disparagement of International Law to say that there is no remedy. An eminent English judge once pronounced from the bench that “the law is astute to find a remedy”; but no astuteness is required in this case,—nothing but simple justice, which is always the object of a true diplomacy. How did the nation suffer? To what extent? These are the practical questions. No technicality can be set up on either side. Damages are damages, no matter by what artificial term they may be characterized. Opposing them as consequential shows the disposition to escape by technicality, even while confessing an equitable liability,—since England is bound for all the consequences of her conduct, bound under International Law, which is a Law of Equity always, and bound, no matter how the damages occurred, always provided they proceeded from her. Because the damages are national, because all suffered instead of one, this is no reason for immunity on her part.
Then it is said, “Why not consider our good friends in England, and especially those noble working-men who stood by us so bravely?” We do consider them always, and give them gratitude for their generous alliance. They belong to what our own poet has called “the nobility of labor.” But they are not England. We trace no damages to them, nor to any class, high or low, but to England, corporate England, through whose Government we suffered.
Then, again, it is said, “Why not exhibit an account against France?” For the good reason, that, while France erred with England in recognition of Rebel belligerence, no pirate ships or blockade-runners were built under shelter of this recognition to prey upon our commerce. The two cases are wide asunder, and they are distinguished by two different phrases of the Common Law. The recognition of Rebel belligerence in France was wrong without injury; but that same recognition in England was wrong with injury, and it is of this unquestionable injury that we complain.
Fellow-citizens, it cannot be doubted that this great question, so long as it continues pending, will be a cloud always upon the relations of two friendly powers, when there should be sunshine. Good men on both sides should desire its settlement, and in such way as most to promote good-will, and make the best precedent for civilization. But there can be no good-will without justice, nor can any “snap judgment” establish any rule for the future. Nothing will do now but a full inquiry, without limitation or technicality, and a candid acceptance of the result. There must be equity, which is justice without technicality.
Sometimes there are whispers of territorial compensation, and Canada is named as the consideration. But he knows England little, and little also of that great English liberty from Magna Charta to the Somerset case, who supposes that this nation could undertake any such transfer. And he knows our country little, and little also of that great liberty which is ours, who supposes that we could receive such a transfer. On each side there is impossibility. Territory may be conveyed, but not a people. I allude to this suggestion only because, appearing in the public press, it has been answered from England.
But the United States can never be indifferent to Canada, nor to the other British provinces, near neighbors and kindred. It is well known historically, that, even before the Declaration of Independence, our fathers hoped that Canada would take part with them. Washington was strong in this hope; so was Franklin. The Continental Congress, by solemn resolution, invited Canada, and then appointed a Commission, with Benjamin Franklin at its head, “to form an Union between the United Colonies and the people of Canada.” In the careful instructions of the Congress, signed in their behalf by John Hancock, President, the Commissioners are, among other things, enjoined “in the strongest terms to assure the people of Canada that it is our earnest desire to adopt them into our Union as a sister Colony, and to secure the same general system of mild and equal laws for them and for ourselves, with only such local differences as may be agreeable to each Colony respectively”; and further, that in the judgment of the Congress “their interest and ours are inseparably united.”[112]
Long ago the Continental Congress passed away, living only in its deeds. Long ago the great Commissioner rested from his labors, to become a star in our firmament. But the invitation survives, not only in the archives of our history, but in all American hearts, constant and continuing as when first issued, believing, as we do, that such a union, in the fulness of time, with the good-will of the mother country and the accord of both parties, must be the harbinger of infinite good. Nor do I doubt that this will be accomplished. Such a union was clearly foreseen by the late Richard Cobden, who, in a letter to myself, bearing date, London, 7th November, 1849, wrote:—