Volume 10 — OUR FOREIGN RELATIONS: SHOWING

PRESENT PERILS FROM ENGLAND AND FRANCE, NATURE AND CONDITION OF INTERVENTION BY MEDIATION AND ALSO BY RECOGNITION, IMPOSSIBILITY OF ANY RECOGNITION OF A NEW POWER WITH SLAVERY AS A CORNER-STONE, AND WRONGFUL CONCESSION OF OCEAN BELLIGERENCE.

Speech before the Citizens of New York, at the Cooper Institute, September 10, 1863. With Appendix.

Marcus. Quæro igitur a te, Quinte, sicut illi solent: Quo si civitas careat, ob eam ipsam causam, quod eo careat, pro nihilo habenda sit, id estne numerandum in bonis?

Quintus. Ac maximis quidem.

Marcus. Lege autem carens civitas estne ob id ipsum habenda nullo loco?

Quintus. Dici aliter non potest.

Marcus. Necesse est igitur legem haberi in rebus optimis.

Quintus. Prorsus assentior.

Cicero, De Legibus, Lib. II. cap. 5.

The Government condemns in the highest degree the conduct of any of our citizens who may personally engage in committing hostilities at sea against any of the nations parties to the present war, and will exert all the means with which the laws and Constitution have armed them to discover such as offend herein and bring them to condign punishment.… The practice of commissioning, equipping, and manning vessels in our ports to cruise on any of the belligerent parties is equally and entirely disapproved; and the Government will take effectual measures to prevent a repetition of it.—Jefferson, Letter to Mr. Hammond, May 15, 1793: Writings, Vol. III. p. 559.

One spot remains which oceans cannot wash out. The slavery of the African race, which the North Americans had inherited from the ancient monarchy, was adopted and fondly cherished by the new Republic.… The logic of the Constitution declared that all men were free: the pride and avarice of the slave-owners, disowning the image of the Creator and the brotherhood of nature, degraded men of a dark color, and even all the descendants of their sons and daughters, to a level with oxen and horses. But as oxen and horses never combine, and have no sense of wronged independence, oxen and horses are better treated than the men and women of African blood.… But neither the philosophical dogma of the authors of the Constitution, nor the strict pedantry of law, can stifle the cry of outraged humanity, nor still the current of human sympathy, nor arrest forever the decrees of Eternal Justice.—Lord John Russell, Life and Times of Charles James Fox, Vol. I. pp. 364, 365.

To this condition the Constitution of this Confederacy reduces the whole African race; and while declaring these to be its principles, the founders claim the privilege of being admitted into the society of the nations of the earth,—principles worthy only of being conceived and promulgated by the inmates of the infernal regions, and a fit constitution for a confederacy in Pandemonium. Now, as soon as the nature of this Constitution is truly explained and understood, is it possible that the nations of the earth can admit such a Confederacy into their society? Can any nation calling itself civilized associate, with any sense of self-respect, with a nation avowing and practising such principles? Will not every civilized nation, when the nature of this Confederacy is understood, come to the side of the United States, and refuse all association with them, as, in truth, they are, hostes humani generis? For the African is as much entitled to be protected in the rights of humanity as any other portion of the human race. As to Great Britain, her course is, in the nature of things, already fixed and immutable. She must sooner or later join the United States in this war, or be disgraced throughout all future time; for the principle of that civilization which this Confederacy repudiates was by her—to her great glory, and with unparalleled sacrifices—introduced into the code of Civilization, and she will prove herself recreant, if she fails to maintain it.—Josiah Quincy, Address before the Union Club of Boston, February 27, 1863.

If British merchants look with eagerness to the event of the struggle in South America, no doubt they do so with the hope of deriving advantage from that event. But on what is such hope founded? On the diffusion of beggary, on the maintenance of ignorance, on the confirmation of slavery, on the establishment of tyranny in America? No; these are the expectations of Ferdinand. The British merchant builds his hopes of trade and profit on the progress of civilization and good government, on the successful assertion of Freedom,—of Freedom, that parent of talent, that parent of heroism, that parent of every virtue. The fate of South America can only be accessory to commerce as it becomes accessory to the dignity and the happiness of the race of man.—Sir James Mackintosh, Speech in Parliament, on the Foreign Enlistment Bill, June 10, 1819.

When a power comparable only to Thugs, buccaneers, and cannibals tries to thrust its hideous head among nations, and claims the protection and privileges of International Law,—a power which rose against the freest rule on earth for the avowed motive of propagating the worst form of Slavery ever known, having no legitimate complaint, or, if it had, certainly trying no constitutional means of redress, but plunging at once into arms, and that when the arsenals had been emptied and the fortresses seized by the treason of office-holders,—I hold it to be an offence against law, order, and public morality for a statesman whose words carry weight to speak at all of such a power without declaring abhorrence of it.—Professor Francis W. Newman, Letter to Mr. Gladstone, December 1, 1862.

I blame men who are eager to admit into the Family of Nations a state which offers itself to us, based upon a principle, I will undertake to say, more odious and more blasphemous than was ever heretofore dreamed of in Christian or Pagan, in civilized or in savage times. The leaders of this revolt propose this monstrous thing: that over a territory forty times as large as England the blight and curse of Slavery shall be forever perpetuated.—John Bright, Speech at Birmingham, December 18, 1862.

We are already culpable for a part of this bloody war; for, better informed or less indifferent, less selfish or more adroit, above all, more wise, more sincerely the friends of what is right, we could, from London and Paris, have thrown into the midst of the combatants this declaration, which would have rendered the conflict ephemeral: “Never will either England or France, Christian nations, liberal nations, recognize the existence of a people seeking to found Liberty and Independence on Slavery!” The misfortune of the times, in obscuring our judgment, in dulling our passion for the beautiful ideas of Freedom, has, then, already made us participants, in some respect, in the rebellion of the people of the South, and, in order to mask what was gross and low in our voluntary error, we set up vague reasons of commercial policy and general policy at which our fathers would have blushed.… The truth is, that the revolt of the South is the most impudent and most odious insult that has ever been offered to the ideas of modern Civilization.—Journal des Économistes, Avril, 1864, Tom. XLII. p. 88.

The following speech[1] was delivered at the invitation of the New York Young Men’s Republican Union, at Cooper Institute, on the 10th of September, 1863. The announcement that Mr. Sumner had consented to address the citizens of New York on a subject so momentous attracted an audience numbering not less than three thousand persons, among whom were most of the acknowledged representatives of the intelligence, wealth, and influence of the metropolis. Long before the hour appointed for the delivery of the speech, the entrance-doors were besieged by an impatient and anxious crowd, who, as soon as the gates were opened, filled the seats, aisles, lobbies, and platform of the vast hall, leaving at least an equal number to return home, unable to gain an entrance to the building.

Of the following named gentlemen, who were invited to occupy seats upon the platform, a majority were present, while in the auditorium were hundreds of equally prominent citizens, who preferred to retain seats near the ladies whom they had escorted to the meeting.

Francis Lieber, LL.D., George Bancroft, Major-General Dix, Horace Greeley, George Griswold, John E. Williams, W. W. DeForest, Cornelius Vanderbilt, Abram Wakeman, Rev. Dr. Tyng, Cyrus W. Field, Alexander T. Stewart, Horace Webster, LL.D., Joseph Lawrence, John A. Stevens, Pelatiah Perit, James A. Hamilton, H. B. Claflin, T. L. Thornell, Colonel William Borden, William Goodell, Rev. Dr. Thompson, Rev. Dr. Gillette, William Cullen Bryant, Major-General Fremont, A. A. Low, John Jay, Henry Grinnell, James Gallatin, Cephas Brainerd, William B. Astor, William H. Aspinwall, Oliver Johnson, W. M. Evarts, William Curtis Noyes, Rev. Dr. Hitchcock, Shepherd Knapp, William H. Webb, James W. Gerard, Anson Livingston, Frank W. Ballard, Isaac H. Bailey, George B. Lincoln, General Harvey Brown, Rev. Dr. Shedd, Rev. Dr. Durbin, Peter Cooper, Major-General Doubleday, Charles H. Marshall, Marshall O. Roberts, Judge Bradford, Charles H. Russell, E. Delafield Smith, Hamilton Fish, Robert B. Minturn, Rev. Dr. Cheever, F. B. Cutting, Charles King, LL.D., Rev. Dr. Ferris, Ex-Governor King, George Folsom, Samuel B. Ruggles, S. B. Chittenden, Charles T. Rodgers, Mark Hoyt, Lewis Tappan, Rev. Dr. Storrs, Rev. Dr. Adams, Rev. Dr. Vinton, Daniel Drew, Francis Hall, George William Curtis, Judge Edmonds, Rev. Dr. Asa D. Smith, Truman Smith, William A. Hall, Prosper M. Wetmore, B. F. Manierre, George P. Putnam, E. C. Johnson, Rev. Dr. Osgood, Elliott C. Cowdin, Rev. T. Ralston Smith, J. S. Schultz, M. Armstrong, Jr., D. A. Hawkins, Edgar Ketchum, Joseph Hoxie, Rev. Dr. Bellows, General S. C. Pomeroy, James McKaye, George F. Butman, David Dudley Field.

David Dudley Field, Esq., who had been selected by the Committee as Chairman of the meeting, introduced Mr. Sumner to the audience in the following words.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,—At no former period in the history of the country has the condition of its foreign relations been so important and so critical as it is at this moment. In what agony of mortal struggle this nation has passed the last two years we all know. A rebellion of unparalleled extent, of indescribable enormity, without any justifiable cause, without even a decent pretext, stimulated by the bad passions which a barbarous institution had originated, and encouraged by expected and promised aid from false men among ourselves, has filled the land with desolation and mourning. During this struggle it has been our misfortune to encounter the evil disposition of the two nations of Western Europe with which we are most closely associated by ties of blood, common history, and mutual commerce. Perhaps I ought to have said the evil disposition of the governments, rather than of the nations; for in France the people have no voice, and we know only the imperial will and policy, while in England the masses have no powers, the House of Commons being elected by a fraction of the people, and the aristocratic classes being against us from dislike to the freedom of our institutions, and the mercantile classes from the most sordid motives of private gain. To what extent this evil disposition has been carried, what causes have stimulated it, in what acts it has manifested itself, and what consequences may be expected to follow from it in future, will be explained by the distinguished orator who is to address you this evening. His position as Chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations has given him an acquaintance with the subject equal, if not superior, to that of any other person in the country. He needs no introduction from me. His name is an introduction and a passport in any free community between the Atlantic and the Pacific seas; therefore, without saying more, I will give way for Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts.”

Amid the most marked demonstrations of satisfaction, expressed frequently by long-continued applause and hearty cheers, Mr. Sumner proceeded in the delivery of his discourse. The meeting adjourned about an hour before midnight.

Three New York newspapers and two in Boston printed the entire speech on the day following its delivery.

SPEECH.

FELLOW-CITIZENS,—From the beginning of the war in which we are now engaged, the public interest has alternated anxiously between the current of events at home and the more distant current abroad. Foreign Relations have been hardly less absorbing than Domestic Relations. At times the latter seem to wait upon the former, and a packet from Europe is like a messenger from the seat of war. Rumors of foreign intervention are constant, now in the form of mediation, and then in the form of recognition; and more than once the country has been summoned to confront the menace of England, and of France, too, in open combination with Rebel Slavemongers battling in the name of Slavery to build an infamous power on the destruction of this Republic.

It is well for us to turn aside from battle and siege at home, from the blazing lines of Vicksburg, Gettysburg, and Charleston, to glance for a moment at the perils from abroad: of course I mean from England and France; for these are the only foreign powers thus far moved to intermeddle on the side of Slavery. The subject to which I invite attention may want the attraction of waving standards or victorious marches; but, more than any conflict of arms, it concerns the civilization of the age. If foreign powers can justly interfere against human freedom, this Republic will not be the only sufferer.

There is always a natural order in unfolding a subject, and I shall try to pursue it on this occasion, under the following heads.

First. The perils to our country from foreign powers, especially foreshadowed in the unexpected and persistent conduct of England and France since the outbreak of the war.

Secondly. The nature of foreign intervention by mediation, with the principles applicable thereto, illustrated by historic instances, showing especially how England, by conspicuous, wide-spread, and most determined intervention to promote the extinction of African Slavery, is irrevocably committed against any act or policy that can encourage this criminal pretension.

Thirdly. The nature of foreign intervention by recognition, with the principles applicable thereto, illustrated by historic instances, showing that by the practice of nations, and especially by the declared sentiments of British statesmen, there can be no foreign recognition of an insurgent power, where the contest for independence is still pending.

Fourthly. The moral impossibility of foreign recognition, even if the pretended power be de facto independent, where it is composed of Rebel Slavemongers seeking to found a new power with Slavery for its declared “corner-stone.” Pardon the truthful plainness of the terms I employ. I am to speak not merely of Slaveholders, but of people to whom Slavery is a passion and a business, therefore Slavemongers,—now in rebellion for the sake of Slavery, therefore Rebel Slavemongers.

Fifthly. The absurdity and wrong of conceding ocean belligerence to a pretended power, which, in the first place, is without a Prize Court, so that it cannot be an ocean belligerent in fact,—and, in the second place, even if ocean belligerent in fact, is of such an odious character that its recognition is a moral impossibility.

From this review, touching upon the present and the past, leaning upon history and upon law, enlightened always by principles which are an unerring guide, our conclusion will be easy.

I.

The perils to our country, foreshadowed in the action of foreign powers since the outbreak of the war, first invite attention.

There is something in the tendencies of nations which must not be neglected. Like individuals, nations influence each other; like the heavenly bodies, they are disturbed by each other in their appointed orbits. Apparent even in peace, this becomes more so in the convulsions of war, whether from the withdrawal of customary forces or from their increased momentum. It is the nature of war to enlarge as it continues. Beginning between two nations, it gradually widens its circle, ingulfing other nations in its fiery maelström. Such is human history. Nor is it different, if the war be for independence. Foreign powers may for a while keep out of the conflict; but examples of history show how difficult this has been.

There was liberty-loving Holland, which, under that illustrious character, William of Orange, predecessor and exemplar of our Washington, rose against the dominion of Spain, upheld by the bigotry of Philip the Second, and the barbarity of his representative, Alva; but the conflict, though at first limited to the two parties, was not slow to engage Queen Elizabeth, who lent to this war of independence the name of her favorite Leicester and the undying heroism of Sidney, while Spain retorted by the Armada. The United Provinces of Holland, in their struggle for independence, were the prototype of the United States of America, which I need not remind you drew into their contest the arms of France, Spain, and Holland. In the rising of the Spanish colonies there was less interposition of other nations, doubtless from the distant and outlying position they occupied, although not beyond the ambitious reach of the Holy Alliance, whose purposes were so far thwarted by Mr. Canning, backed by the declaration of President Monroe, known as the Monroe doctrine, that the British statesman felt authorized to boast that he had called a new world into existence to redress the balance of the old. Then came the struggle of Greece, which, after painful years darkened by massacre, but relieved by exalted self-sacrifice, shining with names, like Byron and Bozzaris, that cannot die, challenged the powerful interposition of England, France, and Russia. The independence of Greece was hardly acknowledged, when Belgium, renouncing the rule of the Netherlands, claimed hers also, and here again the great powers of Europe were drawn into the contest. Then came the effort of Hungary, inspired by Kossuth, which, when about to prevail, aroused the armies of Russia. There was also the contemporaneous effort of the Roman Republic, under Mazzini, which, almost successful, evoked the bayonets of France. We have only recently witnessed the resurrection of Italy, inspired by Garibaldi, and directed by Cavour; but it was not accomplished, until Louis Napoleon, with well-trained legions, bore the imperial eagles into battle.

Such are famous instances, being so many warnings. Ponder them, and you will see the tendency, the temptation, the irresistible fascination, or the commanding exigency under which foreign nations have been led to participate in conflicts for independence. I do not dwell on the character of these interventions, although mostly in the interest of Human Freedom. It is only as examples to put us on our guard that I adduce them. The footprints all lead one way.

Even our war is not without its warning. If thus far in its progress other nations have failed to intervene, they have not succeeded in keeping entirely aloof. The foreign trumpet has not sounded yet, but more than once the cry has come that we should soon hear it, while incidents too often occur, exhibiting abnormal watchfulness of our affairs and uncontrollable passion or purpose to intermeddle in them, with signs of unfriendly feeling. This is applicable especially, if not exclusively, to England and France.

And at the outset, as I am about to speak frankly, I quote the words of an eminent English statesman and orator, who felt it his duty to criticize Spain. From his place in the House of Commons, whence his words flew over Europe, Mr. Canning, Minister of Foreign Affairs, said:—

“If, in what I have now further to say, I should bear hard upon the Spanish Government, I beg that it may be observed, that, unjustifiable as I shall show their conduct to have been—contrary to the Law of Nations, contrary to the law of good neighborhood, contrary, I might say, to the laws of God and man—with respect to Portugal, still I do not mean to preclude a locus pœnitentiæ, a possibility of redress and reparation.”[2]

Fellow-citizens, you shall decide, on hearing the story, if we also have not complaints; but I, too, hope that all will end well.

(1.) One act of the British Cabinet stands foremost as an omen of peril,—foremost in time, foremost also in the magnitude of its consequences. Though plausible in form, it is none the less injurious or unjustifiable. I refer to that inconsiderate Proclamation, in the name of the Queen, as early as 13th May, 1861, which, after raising Rebel Slavemongers to equality with the National Government, solemnly declares “neutrality” between the two coëqual parties: as if the recognition of equality was not an insult to the National Government, and the declaration of neutrality was not a moral absurdity, offensive to reason and all those precedents which make the glory of the British name. Neutrality is equality; neutrality is equity. It is both. But is there just equality between these two parties? Can neutrality between such parties, especially at the very outset, be regarded as equity? Even if the Proclamation could be otherwise than improper at any time in such a rebellion, it was worse than a blunder at that early date. The apparent relations between the two powers were more than friendly. Only a few months had passed since the youthful heir to the British throne was welcomed everywhere, except in Richmond, as in the land of kinsmen. And yet, at once, after tidings of the Rebel assault on Fort Sumter, before the National Government had begun to put forth its strength, and even without waiting for the arrival of our newly appointed minister, who was known to be at Liverpool, on his way to London, the Proclamation was suddenly launched. I doubt if any well-informed person, who reads Mr. Dallas’s despatch of 2d May, 1861, recounting a conversation with the British Secretary, will undertake to vindicate it in point of time. “I informed him,” the minister reports, “that Mr. Adams had apprised me of his intention to be on his way hither in the steamship Niagara, which left Boston on the 1st May, and that he would probably arrive in less than two weeks, by the 12th or 15th instant. His Lordship acquiesced in the expediency of disregarding mere rumor, and waiting the full knowledge to be brought by my successor.”[3] And yet the blow was struck without waiting. The alacrity of this concession was unhappy, for it bore an air of defiance, or at least of heartlessness, towards an ally of kindred blood engaged in the maintenance of its traditional power against an infamous pretension. More unhappy still was it that the good genius of England did not save this historic nation, linked with so many triumphs of Freedom, from a fatal step, which, under the guise of “neutrality,” was a betrayal of Civilization itself.

It is difficult to exaggerate the consequences of this precipitate, unfriendly, and immoral concession, which has been, and still is, an overflowing fountain of mischief and bloodshed,—“hoc fonte derivata clades,”—first, in what it vouchsafes to Rebel Slavemongers on sea and in British ports, and, secondly, in the removal of impediments from British subjects ready to make money out of Slavery,—all of which has been declared by undoubted British authority. Lord Chelmsford, of professional renown as Sir Frederick Thesiger, now an ex-Chancellor, used these words recently in the House of Lords: “If the Southern Confederacy had not been recognized by us as a belligerent power, he agreed with his noble and learned friend [Lord Brougham], that any Englishman aiding them by fitting out a privateer against the Federal Government would be guilty of piracy.”[4] But this is changed by the Queen’s Proclamation. For Rebel Slavery there is recognition; for the British subject opportunity of trade. For Rebel Slavery there is fellowship and equality; for the British subject a new customer, to whom he may lawfully sell Armstrong guns, and other warlike munitions of choicest British workmanship, and, as Lord Palmerston tells us, even ships of war, to be used in behalf of Slavery.[5] What was unlawful is suddenly made lawful, while the ban is taken from an odious felony. It seems superfluous to add, that such concession, thus potent in reach, must have been a direct encouragement and overture to the Rebellion. Slavery itself was exalted, when barbarous pretenders, battling to found a new power in its hateful name, without so much as a single port on the ocean where a prize could be carried for condemnation, were yet, in face of this essential deficiency, swiftly acknowledged as ocean belligerents, while, as consequence, their pirate ships, cruising for plunder in behalf of Slavery, were acknowledged as national ships, entitled to equal immunities with the national ships of the United States. This simple statement is enough. It is vain to say that the concession was a “necessity.” There may have been strong temptation to it, constituting, perhaps, imagined necessity, as with many there is strong temptation to Slavery itself. But such concession to Rebels fighting for Slavery can be vindicated only as Slavery is vindicated. As well declare “neutrality” between Right and Wrong, between Good and Evil, with concession to Evil of belligerent rights, and then set up the apology of “necessity.”

If he is an enemy who does what pleases an enemy, according to the rule borrowed by Grotius from the Christian lawyer of the age of Justinian,[6] then did England become the enemy of the National Union, for this most fruitful concession rejoiced beyond measure the Rebel enemy.

(2.) An act so essentially unfriendly in character, and also in the alacrity with which it was done, too clearly indicated an unfriendly sentiment, easily stimulated to menace of war. And this menace was not wanting, when, soon afterwards, the two Rebel emissaries on board the Trent were seized by a patriotic, brave commander, whose highest fault was, that, in the absence of instructions from his own Government, he followed British precedents only too closely. This accident—for such it was, and nothing else—assumed at once overshadowing proportions. With indefensible exaggeration, it was changed by the British nation, backed by the British Government, into a casus belli,—as if an unauthorized incident, obviously involving no question of self-defence, could justify war between two civilized nations. And yet, in the face of positive declaration from the United States, communicated by our minister at London, that it was an accident, the British Government made preparations to take part with Rebel Slavery, and fitly began such an ignoble proceeding by keeping back from the British people the official despatch of 30th November, 1861, where our Government, after announcing that Captain Wilkes had acted “without any instructions,” expresses a “trust that the British Government would consider the subject in a friendly temper,” and promises “the best disposition” on our part.[7] It is painful to recall this exhibition. But it belongs to history, and we cannot forget the lesson it teaches.

(3.) This tendency to espouse the side of Slavery appears in small things as well as great, becoming more marked in proportion to the inconsistency involved. Thus, where two British subjects, “suspected” of participation in the Rebellion, were detained in a military prison without the benefit of Habeas Corpus, the British minister at Washington was directed to complain of their detention as inconsistent with the Constitution of the United States, of which this intermeddling power assumed to be “expounder”; and the case was accordingly presented on this ground.[8] But the British Cabinet, with instinct to mix in our war, if only by diplomatic notes, seemed to have forgotten the British Constitution, under which, in 1848, with consent of all the party leaders, Brougham and Lansdowne, Peel and Disraeli, Habeas Corpus was suspended in Ireland, and the Government authorized to apprehend and detain “such persons as they shall suspect.” The bill sanctioning this exercise of power went through all its stages in the House of Commons on one day, and the next day went through all its stages in the House of Lords without a dissenting vote. It is hard to believe that Lord Russell, who complains of our detention of “suspected” persons as inconsistent with the Constitution of the United States, was the minister who introduced this bill, and on that occasion used these words: “I believe in my conscience that this measure is calculated to prevent insurrection, to preserve internal peace, to preserve the unity of this empire, and to secure the throne of these realms and the free institutions of this country.”[9]

(4.) The complaint about Habeas Corpus was hardly answered, when another was solemnly presented, founded on the legitimate effort to complete the blockade of Charleston, by sinking at the mouth of its harbor ships laden with stone, usually known as “the stone blockade.” Did anybody find fault with the Russians for sinking their men-of-war in the harbor of Sebastopol? Nor is the allegation of permanent damage to the harbor tenable in the present advanced state of engineering science. A London journal, not inferior to any other in character and ability, has recently recognized the normal character of such a proceeding by mentioning it as a possible defence for Calcutta against naval force, saying: “The ascent of the river without pilots is impossible; for the Government can alter all the channels in a night by merely sinking a couple of loaded schooners.”[10] In common times her Majesty’s Government would shrink from such intermeddling. It could not forget that history, early and late, and especially English history, abounds in similar incidents: that, as long ago as 1436, at the siege of Calais by the Duke of Burgundy, and also in 1628, at the memorable siege of Rochelle by Cardinal Richelieu, ships laden with stone were sunk in the harbor; that, during the war of the Revolution, in 1779, six vessels were sunk by the British commander in the Savannah River, not far from this very Charleston, as a protection against the approach of the French naval forces; that, in 1804, under direction of the British Admiralty, there was an attempt, notorious from contemporary jest,[11] to choke the entrance into the harbor of Boulogne by sinking stone vessels; and that, in 1809, the same blockade of another port was recommended to the Admiralty by no less a person than Lord Dundonald, saying: “Ships filled with stones would ruin forever the anchorage of Aix, and some old vessels of the line well loaded would be excellent for the purpose.”[12] This complaint by the British Cabinet becomes doubly strange, when it is considered that one of the most conspicuous treaties of modern history contains solemn exactions from France by England herself, that the harbor of Dunkirk, whose prosperity was regarded with jealousy, should be permanently “filled up,” so that it could no longer furnish those hospitalities to commerce for which it was famous. This was the Treaty of Utrecht, in 1713. The Triple Alliance, four years later, compelled France to stipulate again that nothing should be omitted “which Great Britain could think necessary for the entire destruction of the harbor”; and the latter power was authorized to send commissioners as “ocular witnesses of the execution of the treaty.” These humiliating provisions were renewed in successive treaties down to the Peace of Versailles, in 1783, when the immunity of that harbor was recognized with American Independence. And yet it is Great Britain, thus persistent in closing ports and rivers, that now interferes to warn us against a stone blockade in a war to put down Rebel Slavery.

(5.) The same propensity and the same inconsistency appear in another instance, where an eminent peer, once Foreign Secretary, did not hesitate, from his place in Parliament, to charge the United States with making medicines and surgical instruments contraband, “contrary to all the common laws of war, contrary to all precedent, not excluding the most ignorant and barbarous ages.”[13] Thus exclaims the noble Lord. Now I have nothing to say of the propriety of making these things contraband. My simple object is to exhibit the spirit against which we are to guard. It is difficult to understand how such a display could be made in face of the historic fact, exposed in the satire of Peter Plymley, that Parliament, in 1808, by large majorities, prohibited the exportation of Peruvian bark into any territory occupied by France, and that this prohibition was moved by no less a person than the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. Perceval, who commended it on the ground that “the severest pressure was already felt on the Continent from the want of that article,” and that “it was of great importance to the armies of the enemy.”[14] Such, in an age neither “ignorant” nor “barbarous,” is authentic British precedent, but now ostentatiously forgotten.

(6.) The same recklessness, of such evil omen, breaks forth again in a despatch of the Foreign Secretary, where he undertakes to communicate the judgment of the British Cabinet on the President’s Proclamation of Emancipation. Here, at least, you will say there can be no misunderstanding and no criticism; but you are mistaken. Under any ordinary circumstances, when great passions find no vent, such an act, having such an object, and being of such unparalleled importance, would be treated by the minister of a foreign power with supreme caution, if not with sympathy; but, under the terrible influence of the hour, Earl Russell, not content with condemning the Proclamation, misrepresents it in the most barefaced manner. This was done in a communication to Lord Lyons here in Washington. Gathering his condemnation into one phrase, he says that it “makes Slavery at once legal and illegal”[15]; whereas it is obvious to the most careless observer, who looks only at the face of the Proclamation, that, whatever its faults, it is not obnoxious to this criticism, for it makes Slavery legal nowhere, while it makes it illegal in an immense territory. An official letter so incomprehensible in motive, from a statesman usually liberal, if not cautious, is another illustration of that irritating tendency which will be checked, at last, when it is fully comprehended.

(7.) The activity of our navy is only another occasion for criticism in a similar spirit. Nothing can be done anywhere to please our self-constituted monitor. Our naval officers in the West Indies, acting under instructions modelled on the judgments of the British Admiralty, are reprehended by Earl Russell in a formal despatch.[16] The judges in our Prize Court are indecently belittled by this same minister, from his place in Parliament,[17] when it is notorious that there are several who compare favorably with any British Admiralty judge since Lord Stowell, not even excepting that noble and upright magistrate, Dr. Lushington. And this same minister has undertaken to throw the British shield over a newly invented contraband trade with the Rebel Slavemongers viâ Matamoras, claiming that it is “a lawful branch of commerce” and “a perfectly legitimate trade.” The “Dolphin” and “Peterhoff” were two ships elaborately prepared in London for this illicit commerce, and they have been duly condemned as such; but their seizure was made the occasion of official protest and complaint, with the insinuation of “vexatious capture and arbitrary interference,” followed by the menace, that, under such circumstances, “it is obvious that Great Britain must interfere to protect her flag.”[18]

(8.) This persistent, inexorable criticism, even at the expense of all consistency, or of all memory, has broken forth in forms incompatible with that very “neutrality” so early declared. It was bad enough to declare neutrality, when the question was between a friendly power and an insulting barbarism; but it is worse, after the declaration, to depart from it, if in words only. The Court of Rome, at a period when it dictated the usage of nations, instructed its Cardinal Legate, on an important occasion, as a solemn duty, first and above all things, to cultivate “indifference” between the parties, and in this regard he was to be so exact, that not only should no partiality be seen in his conduct, but it should not be remarked even “in the actions and words of his domestics.”[19] If, in that early day, before steam and telegraph, or even the newspaper, neutrality was disturbed by “words,” how much more so now, when every word is multiplied indefinitely, and wafted we know not whither, to begin, wherever it falls, a subtle, wide-spread, and irrepressible influence! This injunction is in plain harmony with the refined rule of Count Bernstorff, who, in his admirable despatch at the time of the Armed Neutrality, says sententiously: “Neutrality does not exist, when it is not perfect.”[20] It must be clear and above suspicion. Like the reputation of a woman, it is lost when you begin to talk about it. Unhappily, there is too much occasion to talk about the “neutrality” of England.

I say nothing of a Parliamentary utterance, that the national cause was “detested by a large majority of the House of Commons”; nor do I speak of other most unneutral speeches. I confine myself to official declarations. Here the case is plain. Several of the British Cabinet, including the Foreign Secretary and the Chancellor of the Exchequer, two masters of “words,” have allowed themselves in public speech to characterize our present effort to put down Rebel Slavery as “a contest for empire on one side and for independence on the other.” Here are “words” which, under a specious form, openly encouraged Rebel Slavery. But they are more specious than true, revealing nothing but the side espoused by the orators. Clearly, on our side it is a contest for national life, involving the liberty of a race. Clearly, on the other side it is a contest for Slavery, in order to secure for this hateful crime new recognition and power; and it began in rebellion against the solemn judgment of the American people, declaring, in the election of Abraham Lincoln, that Slavery shall not be extended. Our empire is simply to crush Rebel Slavery. Their independence is but the unrestrained power to whip and sell women and children. If at the beginning the National Government made no declaration, yet the real character of the war was none the less apparent in the Presidential election, out of which it grew, and in the repeated declarations of the other side, who did not hesitate to assert their purpose to build a new power on Slavery,—as in the Italian campaign of Louis Napoleon against Austria the object was necessarily apparent, even before the Emperor tardily at Milan put forth his life-giving proclamation that Italy should be free from the Alps to the Adriatic, by which the war became, in its avowed purpose, as well as in reality, a war of liberation. That such a rebellion should be elevated by the unneutral “words” of a foreign Cabinet into respectability which it deserves so little is only another sign we have to watch.

(9.) These same Cabinet orators, not content with giving us a bad name, allow themselves to pronounce against us on the whole case. They declare that the National Government cannot succeed in crushing Rebel Slavery, and that dismemberment is inevitable. “Jefferson Davis,” says one of them, “has created a nation.” Thus do these representatives of declared “neutrality” degrade us and exalt Slavery. It is apparent that their utterance, though made in Parliament and repeated at public meetings, was founded less on special information from the seat of war—disclosing its secret—than on political theory, if not prejudice. It is true that our eloquent teacher, Edmund Burke, in his famous Letter to the Sheriffs of Bristol, argued most persuasively that Great Britain could not succeed in reclaiming the colonies which had declared themselves independent. His reasoning rather than his wisdom enters into and possesses the British statesmen of our day, who do not take the trouble to see how the two cases are so entirely unlike that the example of the one is not applicable to the other,—that the colonies were battling to found a new power on the corner-stone of Liberty, Equality, and Happiness to All Men, while our Slavemongers are battling to found a new power on the corner-stone of Slavery. The difference becomes a contrast, so that whatever was once generously said in favor of American Independence now tells with unmistakable force against this new-fangled pretension.

No British statesman saw the past more clearly than Earl Russell, when, long ago, in striking phrase, he said that England, in her war against our fathers, “had engaged for the suppression of Liberty”;[21] but this is precisely what Rebel Slavery is doing. Men change, but principles are the same now as then. Therefore do I say, that every sympathy formerly bestowed upon our fathers now belongs to us their children, striving to uphold their work against bad men, who would not only break it in pieces, but put in its stead a new piratical power, whose declared object is “the suppression of Liberty.” And yet British ministers, mounting the prophetic tripod, presume most oracularly to foretell the doom of this Republic. Their prophecies do not disturb my confidence. I do not forget how often false prophets have appeared, like the author of the “Oceana,” who published a demonstration that monarchy was impossible in England[22] less than six months before Charles the Second was welcomed to London amid salvos of cannon and hurrahs of the people. Nor do I stop to consider how far such prophecies uttered in public places by British ministers are consistent with that British “neutrality” so constantly boasted. Opinions are allies more potent than subsidies, especially in an age like the present. Prophecies are opinions proclaimed and projected into the future; and yet these are given freely to Rebel Slavery. There is matter for reflection in this instance, but I adduce it only as another illustration of the times. Nothing is more clear than that whosoever assumes to play prophet becomes pledged in character and pretension to sustain his prophecy. The learned Jerome Cardan, professor and doctor, also dabbler in astrology, of great fame in the sixteenth century, undertook to predict the day of his death, and he maintained his prophetic character by taking his own life at the appointed time. If British ministers, playing prophet, escape the ordinary influences of this craft, it is from that happy nature which suspends for them human infirmity and human prejudice. But it becomes us to note well the increased difficulties and dangers to which, on this account, the national cause is exposed.

(10.) It is not in “words” only, of speeches, despatches, or declarations, that our danger lies. I am sorry to add, that there are acts, also, with which the British Government is too closely associated. I do not refer to the unlimited supply of “munitions of war,” so that our army everywhere, whether at Vicksburg or Charleston, is compelled to encounter Armstrong guns and Blakely guns, with all proper ammunition, from England; for the right of British subjects to sell these articles to Rebel Slavemongers was fixed, when the latter, by sudden metamorphosis, were changed from lawless vagrants of the ocean to lawful belligerents. Nor do I refer to the swarms of swift steamers, “a pitchy cloud warping on the eastern wind,” always under British flag, with contributions to Rebel Slavery; for these, too, enjoy kindred immunity. Of course no royal proclamation can change wrong into right, or make such business otherwise than immoral; but the proclamation may take from it the character of felony.

Even the royal manifesto gives no sanction to the fitting out in England of a naval expedition against the commerce of the United States. It leaves the Parliamentary statute, as well as the general Law of Nations, in full efficacy to restrain and punish such offence. And yet, in face of this obvious prohibition, standing forth in the text of the law, and founded in reason “ere human statute purged the gentle weal,” also exemplified by the National Government, which, from the time of Washington, has always guarded its ports against such outrage, powerful ships are launched, equipped, fitted out, and manned in England, with arms supplied at sea from another English vessel, and then, assuming that by this insulting hocus pocus all English liability is avoided, they proceed at once to rob and destroy the commerce of the United States. England is the naval base from which are derived the original forces and supplies enabling them to sail the sea. Several such ships are now depredating on the ocean, like Captain Kidd, under pretended commissions, each in itself a naval expedition. As England is not at war with the United States, these ships can be nothing else than pirates; and their conduct is that of pirates. Unable to provide a court for the trial of prizes, they revive for every captured ship the barbarous Ordeal of Fire. Like pirates, they burn what they cannot rob. Raging from sea to sea, they turn the ocean into a furnace and melting-pot of American commerce. Of these incendiaries, the most famous is the “Alabama,” with a picked crew of British seamen, with “trained gunners out of her Majesty’s naval reserve,” all, like those of Queen Elizabeth, described as “good sailors and better pirates,” and with everything else from keel to truck British, which, after more than a year of unlawful havoc, is still firing the property of our citizens, without once entering a Rebel Slavemonger port, but always keeping the umbilical connection with England, out of whose womb she sprung, and never losing the original nationality stamped upon her by origin, so that, at this day, she is a British pirate ship, precisely as a native-born Englishman, robbing on the high seas, and never naturalized abroad, is a British pirate subject.

It is bad enough that all this should proceed from England. It is hard to bear. Why is it not stopped at once? One cruiser might, perhaps, elude a watchful government. But it is difficult to see how this can occur once, twice, three times,—and the cry is, Still they sail! Two powerful rams are announced, like stars at a theatre. Will they, also, be allowed to perform? I wish there were not too much reason to believe that all these performances are sustained by prevailing British sympathy. A Frenchman, accidentally prisoner on the Alabama at the destruction of two American ships, describes a British packet in sight whose crowded passengers made the sea resound with cheers, as they witnessed the captured ships handed over to the flames. The words of Lucretius were verified:—

And these same cheers were echoed in Parliament, as the builder of the piratical craft gloried in his deed. The verse which filled the ancient theatre with glad applause declared sympathy with Humanity[24]; but English applause is now given to Slavery and its defenders: “I am an Englishman, and nothing of Slavery is foreign to me.” Accordingly, Slavery is helped by English arms, English gold, English ships, English speeches, English cheers. And yet, for the honor of England be it known, there are Englishmen who stand firm and unshaken amidst this painful recreancy. Their names cannot be forgotten. And still more for the honor of England be it spoken, the working classes, called to suffer the most, bravely bear their calamity, without joining the enemies of the Republic. Their cheers are for Freedom, and not for Slavery.

But the cheers of the House of Commons prevail in her Majesty’s Government. Municipal Law is violated, while International Law, in its most solemn obligation to do unto others as we would have them do unto us, is treated as the merest nullity. Eminent British functionaries, in Court and Parliament, vindicate the naval expeditions which in the name of Slavery are unleashed against a friendly power. Taking advantage of an admitted principle, that, after the concession of belligerent rights, “munitions of war” may be supplied, the Lord Chief Baron of the Exchequer tells us that “ships of war” may be supplied also. Lord Palmerston echoes Lord Chief Baron. Each vouches American authority. But they are mistaken. The steel which they strive to “impel” cannot be feathered from our sides. Since the earliest stage of its existence, the National Government has asserted a distinction between the two cases; and so has the Supreme Court, although there are words of Story latterly quoted to the contrary. The authority of the Supreme Court is positive on the two points into which the British apology is divided. The first is, that, even if a “ship of war” cannot be furnished, the offence is incomplete until the armament is put aboard, so that, where the ship, though fitted out and equipped in a British port, awaits an armament at sea, she is not liable to arrest. Such apology is an insult to the understanding and to common sense,—as if it were not obvious that the offence begins with the laying of the keel for the hostile ship, knowing it to be such:[25] and in this spirit the Supreme Court has decided that it is not necessary to find that a ship on leaving port was armed, or in a condition to commit hostilities; for citizens are restrained from such acts as are calculated to involve the country in war.[26] The second apology assumes, that, even if the armament were aboard, so that the “ship of war” is complete at all points, still the expedition would be lawful, if the fiction of a sale were adroitly managed. On this point, the Supreme Court, speaking by Chief-Justice Marshall, has left no doubt of its deliberate and most authoritative judgment. In the case before the Court the armament was aboard, but cleared as cargo; the men, too, were aboard, but enlisted for a commercial voyage; the ship, though fitted out to cruise against a nation with which we were at peace, was not commissioned as a privateer, and did not attempt to act as such, until she reached the river La Plata, where a commission was obtained and the crew reënlisted; yet, in the face of these extenuating circumstances, it was declared by the whole Court, that the neutrality of the United States had been violated, so that the guilty ship could not afterwards be recognized as a legitimate cruiser. All the disguises were to no purpose. The Court penetrated them every one, saying, that, if such a ship could lawfully sail, there would be on our part “a fraudulent neutrality, disgraceful to our own Government, and of which no nation would be the dupe.”[27] But a “neutrality” worse even than that condemned in advance by our Supreme Court, “of which no nation would be the dupe,” is now served out to us, which nothing can explain, short of the fatal war-spirit that has entered into Great Britain. There was a time when the Foreign Secretary of England, truly eminent as statesman and orator, Mr. Canning, said in the House of Commons: “If a war must come, let it come in the shape of satisfaction to be demanded for injuries, of rights to be asserted, of interests to be protected, of treaties to be fulfilled. But, in God’s name, let it not come on in the paltry, pettifogging way of fitting out ships in our harbors to cruise for gain. At all events, let the country disdain to be sneaked into a war.”[28] These noble words were uttered in reply to Lord John Russell and his associates in 1823, when trying to repeal the Foreign Enlistment Act, and to overturn the statute safeguards of British neutrality. They speak now with greater force even than then.

Though it be admitted that “ships of war,” like “munitions of war,” may be sold to a belligerent, as is asserted by the British Prime-Minister, echoing the Lord Chief Baron, it is obvious that it can be only with the distinction already mentioned, that the sale is a commercial transaction, pure and simple, and not in any respect a hostile expedition fitted out in England. The ship must be “exported” as an article of commerce, and must continue such until arrival at the belligerent port, where alone can it be fitted out and commissioned as a “ship of war,” when its hostile character will commence. Any attempt in England to impart a hostile character to the ship, or, in one word, to make England its naval base, must be criminal: but this is precisely what has been done. Ships are sent forth, armed and equipped. And, pray, how distinguish a ship armed and equipped from a regiment armed and equipped? It is not a munition, it is not even an article, but much more; and here is the distinction not to be overlooked. It is an organized force, and the nation sending it forth makes itself a party to the war,—all of which England has done. And here are the leonine footprints which point so badly.

(11.) Not content with misconstruing the decisions of our Supreme Court, making them a cover for naval expeditions to depredate on our commerce, our whole history is forgotten or misrepresented. It is forgotten, that, as early as 1793, under the administration of Washington, before any Act of Congress on the subject, the National Government recognized its liability, under the Law of Nations, for ships fitted out in its ports to depredate on British commerce; that Washington, in his speech at the opening of Congress, describes such ships as “vessels commissioned or equipped in a warlike form within the limits of the United States,” and also as “military expeditions or enterprises”;[29] and that Jefferson, vindicating this policy of repression, said, in a letter to the French Minister, that it was “our wish to preserve the morals of our citizens from being vitiated by courses of lawless plunder and murder”;[30] that, on this occasion, the National Government made the distinction between “munitions of war,” which a neutral might supply in the way of commerce to a belligerent, and “ships of war,” which a neutral was not allowed to supply or even to augment with arms; that Mr. Hammond, the British plenipotentiary at that time, by his letter of 8th May, 1793, after complaining of two French privateers, fitted out at Charleston to cruise against British commerce, expressly declares that “he conceives them to be breaches of that neutrality which the United States profess to observe, and direct contraventions of the proclamation which the President issued,”[31] and that very soon there were criminal proceedings, at British instigation, on account of these privateers, in which it was affirmed by the Court that such ships could not be fitted out in a neutral port without violation of international obligations; that promptly, on the representation of the British Government, a statute was enacted by Congress, in harmony with the Law of Nations, for the better maintenance of our neutrality;[32] that, in 1818, another statute followed in the nature of a Foreign Enlistment Act,[33] afterwards proposed as an example by Lord Castlereagh, when urging a similar statute upon Parliament;[34] that, in 1823, the conduct of the United States on this whole head was presented as a model by Mr. Canning;[35] that, in 1838, during the rebellion in Canada, on the appeal of the British Government, and to its special satisfaction, as was announced in Parliament by Lord Palmerston, at the time Foreign Secretary, our Government promptly declared its purpose “to maintain the supremacy of those laws which were passed to fulfil the obligations of the United States to all friendly nations who may be unfortunately engaged in foreign or domestic war,” and, not satisfied with existing powers, undertook to ask additional legislation from Congress; that Congress proceeded at once to the enactment of another statute, calculated to meet the immediate exigency, where it is provided that collectors, marshals, and other officers shall “seize and detain any vessel or any arms or munitions of war which may be provided or prepared for any military expedition or enterprise against the territory or dominions of any foreign prince or state.”[36] It is something to forget these things; but it is convenient to forget still further, that, at the Crimean War, in 1854, the British Government, jointly with France, made another appeal to the United States, that our citizens should “rigorously abstain from taking part in armaments of Russian privateers, or in any other measure opposed to the duties of a strict neutrality”;[37] and this appeal, declared by the British Government to be “in the spirit of just reciprocity,” was answered on our part by a sincere and determined vigilance, so that not a single British or French ship suffered from any cruiser fitted out in our ports. And it is also convenient to forget no less the solemn obligations of treaty, binding both parties:—

“That the subjects and citizens of the two nations shall not do any acts of hostility or violence against each other, nor accept commissions or instructions so to act from any foreign prince or state, enemies to the other party; nor shall the enemies of one of the parties be permitted to invite or endeavor to enlist in their military service any of the subjects or citizens of the other party; and the laws against all such offences and aggressions shall be punctually executed.”[38]

At the date of this treaty, in 1794, there was little legislation on the subject in either country; so that the treaty, in harmony with the practice, testifies to the requirements of the Law of Nations as understood at the time by both powers.

And yet, disregarding all these things, which show how faithfully the National Government has acted, both in measures of repression and measures of compensation, also how often the British Government asked and received protection at our hands, and how highly our example of neutrality has been appreciated by leading British statesmen,—and disowning, also, that “spirit of just reciprocity,” which, besides being the prompting of an honest nature, has been positively promised, ship after ship is permitted to leave British ports to depredate on our commerce; and when we complain of an outrage so unprecedented and so unjustifiable, all the obligations of International Law are ignored, and we are petulantly told that the evidence against the ships is not sufficient under the statute; and when we propose that the statute shall be rendered efficient for the purpose,—precisely as in past times the British Government, under circumstances less stringent, proposed to us,—we are pointedly repelled by the old baronial declaration, that there must be no change in the laws of England,—“nolumus leges Angliæ mutari”; while, to cap this strange insensibility, Lord Palmerston, in a last debate of the late Parliament, brings against us a groundless charge of infidelity to neutral duties during the Crimean War,[39] when the fact is notoriously the reverse, and Earl Russell, in the same spirit, imagines an equally groundless charge, which he records in one of his diplomatic notes, that we have recently enlisted men in Ireland,[40] when notoriously we have done no such thing. Thus are the obligations of reciprocal service and good-will openly discarded, while our public conduct, as well in the past as the present, is openly misrepresented.

(12.) This flagrant oblivion of history and of duty, which seems the adopted policy of the British Government, is characteristically followed by flat refusal to pay for the damages to our commerce caused by the hostile expeditions. The United States, with Washington as President, on application of the British Government, made compensation for damages to British commerce under circumstances much less vexatious,—and, still further, by special treaty, made compensation for damages “by vessels originally armed” in our ports,[41]—which is the present case. Of course it can make no difference, not a pin’s difference, if the armament is carried out to sea in another vessel from a British port and there transshipped. Such an elaborate evasion may be effectual against a Parliamentary statute, but it must be impotent against a demand upon the British Government, according to the principles of International Law; for this law looks always at substance, and not form, and will not be diverted by the trick of a pettifogger. Whether the armament be put on board in port or at sea, England is always the naval base, or, according to the language of Sir William Scott in a memorable case, the “station” or “vantage-ground,” which he declared a neutral country could not be.[42] Therefore the early precedent between the United States and England is in every respect completely applicable; and since this precedent was established not only by the consent of England, but at her motion, it must be accepted on the present occasion as an irreversible declaration of international duty. Other nations might differ, but England is bound. And now it is her original interpretation, first made to take compensation from us, which is flatly rejected when we ask compensation from her. Even if the responsibility for a hostile expedition fitted out in British ports were not plain, there is something in the recent conduct of the British Government calculated to remove all doubt. Pirate ships are reported on the stocks ready to be launched, and when the Parliamentary statute is declared insufficient to stop them, the British Government declines to amend it, and, so doing, openly declines to stop the pirate ships, saying, “If the Parliamentary statute is inadequate, then let them sail.” It is not needful to consider the apology. The act of declension is positive, and its consequences are no less positive, fixing beyond question the responsibility of the British Government for these criminal expeditions. Thus fixing the responsibility, we but follow the suggestions of reason and the text of an approved authority, whose words have been adopted in England.

“It must be laid down as a maxim, that a sovereign, who, knowing the crimes of his subjects, as, for example, that they practice piracy on strangers, and, being also able and obliged to hinder it, does not hinder it, renders himself criminal, because he has consented to the bad action, the commission of which he has permitted.… It is presumed that a sovereign knows what his subjects openly and frequently commit; and as to his power of hindering the evil, this likewise is always presumed, unless the want of it be clearly proved.”[43]

Such are the words of Burlamaqui, in his work on Political Law, quoted with approbation by Phillimore, in his work on the Law of Nations.[44] Unless these words are discarded as “a maxim,” while the early precedent of British demand upon us is also rudely rejected, it is difficult to see how the British Government can avoid the consequences of complicity with the pirate ships in all their lawless devastation. I forbear to dwell on this accumulating liability, amounting already to many millions of dollars, with accumulating exasperations also. My present object is accomplished, if I make you see which way danger lies.

(13.) Beyond acts and words, this same British rabbia shows itself in the official tone towards the national cause in its unparalleled struggle, especially throughout the correspondence of the British Foreign Office. There is little friendship in any of these letters. Nor is there any sympathy with the national championship against Rebel Slavery, nor even one word of mildest dissent from the miscreant apocalypse preached in its behalf. Naturally the tone is in harmony with the sentiment. Hard, curt, captious, cynical, it evinces indifference to that kindly intercourse which nations ought to cultivate with each other, and which should be the study of a wise statesmanship. The Malay runs amuck, and such is the British diplomatic style in dealing with us. This is painfully conspicuous in all that concerns the pirate ships. But I can well understand that a Secretary conceding belligerent rights to Rebel Slavery so easily, and then so easily permitting its ships to sally forth for piracy, would be very indifferent to the tone of what he wrote. And yet, even outrage may be soothed or softened by gentle words; but none such come out of British diplomacy to us. Most deeply do I regret this too suggestive failure. And believe me, fellow-citizens, I say these things with sorrow unspeakable, and only in discharge of my duty, when, face to face, I meet you to consider the aspects of our affairs abroad.

(14.) There is still another head of danger, in which all others culminate. I refer to intrusive mediation, or, it may be, recognition of the Slavemonger attempt as an independent nation,—for such movements have been made openly in Parliament and urged constantly by the British press, and, though not yet adopted by her Majesty’s Government, have never been repelled on principle, so that they constitute a perpetual cloud threatening to break. It is plain to all who have not forgotten history, that England never can be guilty of such recognition without unpardonable apostasy; nor can she intervene by way of mediation, except in the interests of Freedom. And yet such are the “elective affinities” newly born between England and Slavery, such is the wilful blindness with regard to our country, kindred to that which prevailed in the time of George Grenville and Lord North, that her Majesty’s Government, instead of repelling the proposition, simply adjourn it, adopting meanwhile the attitude of one watching to strike. The British Minister at Washington, of model prudence, whose individual desire for peace I cannot doubt, tells his Government, in a despatch found in the last Blue Book, that as yet he sees no sign of “a conjuncture at which foreign powers may step in with propriety and effect to put a stop to the effusion of blood.”[45] Here is the plain assumption that such conjuncture may occur. For the present we are left free to wage the battle against Slavery without any such intervention in arrest of the national efforts.

Such are some of the warnings which lower from the English sky arching the graves of Wilberforce and Clarkson, while sounding above these sacred resting-places are heard strange, un-English voices, crying out: “Come unto us, Rebel Slavemongers, whippers of women and sellers of children!—for you are the people of our choice, whom we welcome promptly to ocean rights, with Armstrong guns and naval expeditions equipped in our ports, and on whom we lavish sympathy always and the prophecy of success; while for you who uphold the Republic and oppose Slavery we have hard words, criticism, rebuke, and the menace of war!”

Crossing the Channel into France, we are not encouraged much. And yet the Emperor, though acting habitually in concert with the British Cabinet, has not intermeddled so illogically or displayed a temper of so little international amiability. The correspondence under his direction, even at the most critical moments, leaves little to be desired in respect of form. Nor has there been a single blockade-runner under the French flag, nor a single pirate ship from a French port. But, in spite of these things, it is too apparent that the Emperor has taken sides against us in at least four important public acts, positively, plainly, offensively. The Duc de Choiseul, Prime-Minister of France, was addressed by Frederick of Prussia as “Coachman of Europe,”—a title which belongs now to Louis Napoleon. But he must not try to be “coachman of America.”

(1.) Following the example of England, Louis Napoleon acknowledges the Rebel Slavemongers as ocean belligerents, so that, with the sanction of France, our ancient ally, their pirate ships, although without a single open port which they can call their own, enjoy complete immunity as lawful cruisers, while all who sympathize with them furnish supplies and munitions of war. This fatal concession was aggravated by the concurrence of the two great powers. But, God be praised, their joint act, though capable of giving brief vitality to Slavery on pirate decks, is impotent to confirm the intolerable pretension.

(2.) Sinister events are not alone, and this recognition of Slavery was followed by an expedition of France, in concurrence with England and Spain, against our neighbor Republic, Mexico. The two latter powers very soon withdrew, but the Emperor, less wise, did not hesitate at invasion. A French fleet, with an unmatched iron-clad,—the consummate product of French naval art,—is now at Vera Cruz, and the French army, after a protracted siege, has stormed Puebla and entered the famous capital. This far-reaching enterprise was originally declared to be nothing more than process, served by a general, for the recovery of outstanding debts due to French citizens. But the Emperor, in a mystic letter to General Forey, gives it another character. He proposes nothing less than the restoration of the Latin race on this side of the Atlantic, and more than intimates that the United States must be restrained in power and influence over the Gulf of Mexico and the Antilles. And now the Archduke Maximilian of Austria is proclaimed Emperor of Mexico under the protection of France. It is obvious that this imperial invasion, though only indirectly against us, would not have been made, if our convulsions had not left the door of the Continent ajar, so that foreign powers may bravely enter in. And it is more obvious that this attempt to plant a throne by our side would “have died before it saw the light,” had it not been supposed that Rebel Slavery was about to triumph.[46] Plainly the whole transaction is connected with our affairs. But it can be little more than a transient experiment; for who can doubt that this imperial exotic, planted by foreign care and propped by foreign bayonets, must disappear before the ascending glory of the Republic?

(3.) This enterprise of war was followed by an enterprise of diplomacy not less hardy. The Emperor, not content with stirring against us the Gulf of Mexico, the Antilles, and the Latin race, entered upon work of a different character. He invited England and Russia to unite with France in tendering to the two “belligerents” (such is the equal designation of our Republic and the embryo Slavemonger mockery!) a joint mediation to procure “an armistice for six months, during which every act of war, direct or indirect, should provisionally cease on sea as well as on land, to be renewed, if necessary, for a further period.” The Cabinets of England and Russia, better inspired, declined the invitation, which looked to little short of recognition itself. Under the proposed armistice, all our vast operations must have been suspended, the blockade itself must have ceased, while the Rebel ports were opened on the one side to unlimited supplies and military stores, and on the other to unlimited exports of cotton. Trade, for the time, would have been legalized in these ports, and Slavery would have lifted its grinning front before the civilized world. Not disheartened by this failure, the Emperor alone pushed forward his diplomatic enterprise against us, as alone he had pushed forward his military enterprise against Mexico, and presented to our Government the unsupported mediation of France. His offer was promptly rejected by the President. By solemn resolutions of both Houses, adopted with singular unanimity, and communicated since to all foreign governments, Congress announced that such a proposition could be attributed only to “a misunderstanding of the true state of the question, and of the real character of the war in which the Republic is engaged”; and that it was in its nature so far injurious to the national interests that Congress would be obliged to consider its repetition an unfriendly act.[47] This strong language frankly states the true position of our country. Any such offer, whatever its motive, must be an encouragement to the Rebellion. In an age when ideas prevail and even words become things, the simple declarations of statesmen are of incalculable importance. But the head of a great nation is more than statesman in such influence. The imperial proposition tended directly to the dismemberment of the Republic and the substitution of a ghastly Slavemonger nation.

Baffled in this effort twice attempted, the Emperor does not yet abandon his policy. We are told that it is “postponed to a more suitable opportunity”; so that he, too, waits to strike, if the Gallic cock does not sound alarm in an opposite quarter. Meanwhile the development of the Mexican expedition shows too clearly the motive of mediation. It was all one transaction. Mexico was invaded for empire, and mediation was proposed to help the plot. But the invasion must fail with the diplomacy to which it is allied.

(4.) The policy of the French Emperor towards our Republic is not left to uncertain inference. For a long time public report has pronounced him unfriendly, and now public report is confirmed by what he does and says. The ambassadorial attorney of Rebel Slavery is received at the Tuileries, members of Parliament on an errand of hostility to our cause are received at Fontainebleau, and the open declaration is made that the Emperor desires to recognize Rebel Slavery as an independent power. This is hard to believe, but it is too true. The French Emperor is against us. In an evil hour, under temptations which should be scouted, he forgets the precious traditions of France, whose blood commingled with ours in a common cause; he forgets the swords of Lafayette and Rochambeau, flashing side by side with the swords of Washington and the earlier Lincoln, while the lilies of the ancient monarchy floated together with the stars of our infant flag; he forgets that early alliance, sealed by Franklin, which gave to the Republic the assurance of national life, and made France the partner of her rising glory;—“Heu pietas! heu prisca fides! Manibus date lilia plenis!”—and he forgets still more the obligations of his own name,—how the first Napoleon surrendered to us Louisiana and the whole region west of the Mississippi, saying: “This accession of territory establishes forever the power of the United States, and gives to England a maritime rival destined to humble her pride”;[48] and he forgets, also, how he himself, when beginning intervention for Italian liberty, boasted proudly that France always stood for an “idea”; and forgetting these things, which mankind cannot forget, he seeks the disjunction of this Republic, with the spoliation of that very territory which came to us with such auspices, while France, always standing for an “idea,” stands, under the second Napoleon, for the “idea” of welcome to a new evangel of Slavery, with Mason and Slidell as the evangelists. Thus is imperial influence exerted for Rebel Slavemongers. The Emperor, for the present, forbears to fling his sword into the scale; but he flings his heavy hand, if not his sword.

Only recently we have the menace of the sword. The throne of Mexico is offered to an Austrian archduke. The desire to recognize the independence of Rebel Slavery is openly declared. These two incidents together are complements of each other. And now we are assured by concurring report, that Mexico is to be maintained as an empire. The policy of the Holy Alliance, originally organized against the great Napoleon, is adopted by his representative on the throne of France. What its despot authors left undone the present Emperor, nephew of the first, proposes to accomplish. Report informs us that Texas also is doomed to the imperial protectorate, thus ravishing a possession which belongs to this Republic as much as Normandy belongs to France.[49] The partition of Poland is acknowledged to be the great crime of the last century. It was accomplished by three powers, with the silent connivance of the rest, but not without pangs of remorse in one of the spoilers. “I know,” said Maria Theresa to the ambassador of Louis the Sixteenth, “that I have brought a deep stain on my reign by what has been done in Poland; but I am sure that I should be forgiven, if it could be known what repugnance I had to it.”[50] Here on this Continent the French Emperor seeks to play the very part which of old caused the contrition of Maria Theresa; nor could the partition of our broad country—if, in an evil hour, it were accomplished—fail to be the great crime of the present century. Trampler upon the Republic in France, trampler upon the Republic in Mexico, it remains to be seen if the French Emperor can prevail as trampler upon this Republic. I do not think he can; nor am I anxious on account of this new-found Emperor, who will be another King Canute against the rising tide of the American people. His chair must be withdrawn, or he will be overwhelmed.[51]

Here I bring to an end this unpleasant review. It is with little satisfaction, and only in explanation of our relations with foreign powers, that I accumulate these instances, not one of which, small or great, is without its painful lesson, while they all testify with a single voice to the perils of our country.

II.

Another branch of the subject is not less important. Considering all these things, and especially how great powers abroad constantly menace intervention, now by criticism and then by proffer of mediation, all tending painfully to something further, it becomes us to see what, according to International Law and the examples of history, will justify foreign intervention, in any of the forms it may take. And here there is one remark to be made at the outset. Nations are equal in the eye of International Law, so that what is right for one is right for all. It follows that no nation can justly exercise any right which it is not bound to concede under like circumstances. Therefore, should our cases be reversed, there is nothing England and France now propose, or may hereafter propose, which it will not be our equal right to propose, when Ireland or India once more rebels, or when France is in the throes of its next revolution. Generously, and for the sake of that international comity not lightly hazarded, we may reject the precedents they furnish; but it will be difficult for them to complain, if we follow their steps.

Foreign intervention is, on its face, inconsistent with every idea of national independence, which in itself is the natural and acknowledged right of a nation to rest undisturbed so long as it does not disturb others. If nations stood absolutely alone, dissociated from each other, so that what passed in one had little or no influence in another, only a tyrannical or intermeddling spirit could fail to recognize this right. But civilization, drawing nations nearer together and into one society, brings them under reciprocal influence, so that no nation can now act or suffer alone. Out of the relations and suggestions of good neighborhood, involving the admitted right of self-defence, springs the only justification or apology to be found for foreign intervention, which is the general term to signify interposition in the affairs of another country, whatever form it may take. Much is done under the name of “good offices,” whether in the form of mediation or intercession,—and much also by military power, whether in the declared will of superior force or directly by arms. Recognition of independence is also another instance. Intervention in any form is interference. If peaceable, it must be judged by its motive and tendency; if forcible, it will naturally be resisted by force.

Intervention may be between two or more nations, or between the two parties to a civil war; and yet again, it may be where there is no war, foreign or domestic. In each case it is governed by the same principles, except, perhaps, that in the case of civil war there should be more careful consideration, not only of the rights, but of the susceptibilities of a nation so severely tried. Such is the obvious suggestion of humanity. Intervention between nations is only a common form of participation in foreign war, but intervention in a civil war is intermeddling in the domestic concerns of another nation. Whoever acts at the joint invitation of belligerent parties to compose a bloody strife is entitled to the blessings which belong to the peacemakers; but, if uninvited, or acting at the invitation of one party only, he will be careful to proceed with reserve and tenderness, in the spirit of peace, and confining action to a proffer of good offices in the form of mediation or intercession, unless he is ready for war. Such proffer may be declined without offence. But it can never be forgotten, that, where one side is obviously fighting for Barbarism, any intervention, whatever form it takes,—if only by captious criticism, calculated to encourage the wrong side, or to secure for it time or temporary toleration, if not final success,—is plainly immoral. If not contrary to the Law of Nations, it ought to be.

Intervention in the spirit of peace and for the sake of peace belongs to the refinements of modern civilization. Intervention in the spirit of war, if not for the sake of war, has filled a large space in history, ancient and modern. But all these instances may be grouped under two heads: first, intervention in external affairs; and, secondly, intervention in internal affairs. The first is illustrated by the intervention of the Elector Maurice of Saxony against Charles the Fifth, of King William against Louis the Fourteenth, of Russia and France in the Seven Years’ War, of Russia again between France and Austria in 1805, and also between France and Prussia in 1806, and of France, Great Britain, and Sardinia between Turkey and Russia in the war of the Crimea.

The intervention of Russia, Austria, and Prussia in the affairs of Poland, of Great Britain among the native provinces of India, and of the Allied Powers in the French Revolution, under the continued inspiration of the Treaty of Pilnitz, are illustrations of the second head. Without dwelling on these great examples, I shall call attention to instances showing more especially the growth of intervention, first in external, and then in internal affairs. Here I shall conceal nothing. Instances seeming against the principles I have at heart will at least help illustrate the great subject, so that you may see it as it is.

(1.) First in order, and for the sake of completeness, I speak of intervention in external affairs, where two or more nations are parties.

As long ago as 1645, France offered mediation between what were then called “The Two Crowns of the North,” Sweden and Denmark. This was followed, in 1648, by the famous Peace of Westphalia, the beginning of our present Law of Nations, negotiated under the joint mediation of the Pope and the Republic of Venice, present by nuncio and ambassador. In 1655, the Emperor of Germany offered mediation between Sweden and Poland; but the old historian records that the Swedes suspected him of seeking to increase rather than to arrange pending difficulties; and the effort ended by the withdrawal of the imperial envoy into the Polish camp. Sweden, though often belligerent in those days, was not so always, and, in 1672, when war broke forth between France and England on one side and the Dutch Provinces on the other, we find her proffering mediation, which was promptly accepted by England, who justly rejected a similar proffer most hardily made by the Elector of Brandenburg, ancestor of the kings of Prussia, while marching at the head of his forces to join the Dutch. The English note on this occasion, written in what at the time was called “sufficiently bad French, but in very intelligible terms,” declared that the Electoral proffer, though under the pleasant name of mediation (par le doux nom de médiation), was adjudged to be only arbitration, and that, instead of mediation unarmed and disinterested, it was mediation armed and pledged to the enemies of England.[52]

Such are earlier instances, all of which have their lessons for us. There are modern, also. I allude only to the Triple Alliance, between Great Britain, Prussia, and Holland, which, at the close of the last century, successively intervened, by mediation which could not be resisted, to compel Denmark, while siding with Russia against Sweden, to remain neutral for the rest of the war,—then, in 1791, to dictate terms of peace between Austria and the Porte,—and lastly, in 1792, to constrain Russia into abandonment of her designs upon the Turkish Empire by the Peace of Jassy. On this occasion, the Russian Empress, Catharine the Second, peremptorily refused the mediation of Prussia, and the mediating Alliance made its approaches through Denmark, by whose good offices the Empress was finally induced to accept the treaty. While thus engaged in professed mediation, England, in a note to the French ambassador, declined to act as mediator between France and the Allied Powers, leaving that world-embracing war to proceed. Not only has England refused to act as mediator, but also refused submission to mediation. This was during the last war with the United States, when Russia, at that time the ally of England, proffered mediation between the two belligerents, which was promptly accepted by the United States. Its rejection by England, causing the prolongation of hostilities, was considered by Sir James Mackintosh less justifiable, as “a mediator is a common friend, who counsels both parties with a weight proportioned to their belief in his integrity and their respect for his power; but he is not an arbitrator, to whose decision they submit their differences, and whose award is binding on them.”[53] The Peace of Ghent was concluded at last under Russian mediation. But England has not always been belligerent. When Andrew Jackson menaced letters of marque against France, on account of failure to pay a sum stipulated in a recent treaty with the United States, King William the Fourth proffered mediation; but happily the whole question was already virtually arranged. It appears, also, that, before our war with Mexico, the good offices of England were tendered to the two parties; but neither was willing to accept them, and war took its course.

Such are instances of interference in external affairs; and since International Law is traced in history, they furnish a guide we cannot now neglect, especially when we regard the actual policy of England and France.

(2.) Instances of foreign intervention in the internal affairs of a nation are more pertinent. They are numerous, and not always harmonious, especially if we compare the new with the old. In the earlier times such intervention was regarded with repugnance. But the principle then declared has been sapped on the one side by the conspiracies of tyranny seeking the suppression of liberal institutions, and on the other by a generous sympathy breaking forth from time to time in their support. According to old precedents, most of which are found in the gossipping book of Wicquefort,[54] whence they have been copied by Mr. Wildman, in his “Institutes of International Law,”[55] even foreign intercession was prohibited. Not even in the name of charity could one ruler speak to another on the domestic affairs of his government. Peter, King of Aragon, was astonished at a proposed embassy from Alphonso, King of Castile, entreating mercy for rebels. Charles the Ninth of France, a detestable monarch, in reply to ambassadors of the Protestant princes of Germany, pleading for his Protestant subjects, insolently declared that he required no tutors to teach him how to rule. And yet this same sovereign did not hesitate to ask the Duke of Savoy to receive certain subjects “into his benign favor, and to restore and reëstablish them in their confiscated estates.”[56] In this appeal there was a double inconsistency; for it was not only interference in the affairs of another prince, but it was in behalf of Protestants, only a few months before the Massacre of St. Bartholomew. Henry the Third, successor of Charles, and another detestable monarch, in reply to the Protestant ambassadors, announced that he was a sovereign prince, and ordered them to leave his dominions. Louis the Thirteenth was of milder nature, and yet, when the English ambassador, the Earl of Carlisle, presumed to speak in favor of the Huguenots, he intimated that no interference between the King of France and his subjects could be approved. The Cardinal Richelieu, who governed France so long, learning that an attempt was made to procure the intercession of the Pope, stopped it by a message to his Holiness, that the King would be displeased by any such interference. The Pope himself, on another recorded occasion, admitted that it would be a pernicious precedent for a subject to negotiate terms of accommodation through a foreign prince. On still another occasion, when the King of France, forgetting his own rule, interposed in behalf of the Barberini family, Innocent the Tenth declared, that, having no desire to interfere in the affairs of France, he trusted his Majesty would not interfere in his. Queen Christina of Sweden, merely hinting a disposition to proffer good offices for the settlement of the unhappy divisions in France, was told by the Queen Regent that she need give herself no trouble about them, and one of her own ministers at Stockholm declared that the overture was properly rejected. Nor were the States General of Holland less sensitive. They even refused audience to the Spanish ambassador seeking to congratulate them on the settlement of a domestic question; and when the French ambassador undertook to plead for Roman Catholics, the States, by formal resolution, denounced his conduct as inconsistent with the peace and constitution of the Republic, all of which was communicated to him by eight deputies, who added in speech whatever the resolution seemed to want in plainness.

Nor is England without similar example. Louis the Thirteenth, shortly after the marriage of his sister Henrietta Maria with Charles the First, consented that the English ambassadors should interpose for French Protestants; but when the French ambassador in England requested the repeal of a law against Roman Catholics, Charles expressed his surprise that the King of France should presume to intermeddle in English affairs. Even as late as 1746, when, after the Battle of Culloden, the Dutch ambassador in France was induced to address the British Government in behalf of the unfortunate Charles Edward, to the effect, that, if taken, he should not be treated as a rebel, it is recorded that this intercession was greatly resented by the British Government, which, not content with apology from the unfortunate official, required that he should be rebuked by his own Government also.[57] And this is British testimony with regard to intervention in a civil war, even when it took the mildest form of intercession for the life of a prince.

In face of such repulses, all these nations, at different times, practised intervention in every variety of form,—sometimes by intercession or “good offices” only, sometimes by mediation, and often by arms. Even these instances attest the intermeddling spirit; for such intervention, however received, was at least attempted.

Two precedents belonging to the earlier period deserve to stand apart, not only for historic importance, but for applicability to our times. The first was the effort to institute mediation between King Charles the First and his Parliament, attempted by Cardinal Mazarin, that powerful minister, who, during the minority of Louis the Fourteenth, swayed France. The civil war had been waged for years; good men on each side had fallen,—Falkland fighting for the King, and Hampden fighting for the Parliament,—and other costliest blood been shed on the fields of Edgehill, Newbury, Marston Moor, and Naseby, when the ambitious Cardinal, wishing to serve the King, promised, as Clarendon relates, “to press the Parliament so imperiously, and to denounce a war against them, if they refused to yield to what was reasonable.”[58] For this important service he selected the famous Pomponne de Bellièvre, of a family tried in public duties,—himself President of the Parliament of Paris and peer of France,—conspicuous in personal qualities as in place, whose beautiful head, preserved by the graver of Nanteuil, is illustrious in Art, and whose dying charity lives still in the great hospital of the Hôtel Dieu, at Paris. Arriving at London, the graceful ambassador presented himself to that Long Parliament which knew so well how to guard English rights. At once every overture was rejected in formal proceedings, from which I copy these words: “We do declare that we ourselves have been careful to improve all occasions to compose these unhappy troubles, yet we have not, neither can we, admit of any mediation or interposing betwixt the King and us by any foreign prince or state. And we desire that his Majesty, the French King, will rest satisfied with this our resolution and answer.”[59] On the committee which drew this reply was John Selden, unsurpassed for learning and ability in the whole splendid history of the English bar, in every book of whose library was written, “Before everything, Liberty,” and also that Harry Vane whom Milton, in one of his most inspired sonnets, addresses as

The answer of such men is a precedent for us, especially should England, taking up the rejected policy of Mazarin, presumptuously send any ambassador to stay the Republic in its war with Slavery.

The same heart of oak, so strenuous to repel intervention of France between King and Parliament, was not less strenuous the other way, when intervention could serve the rights of England or the principles of religious liberty. Such was England when ruled by the great Protector, called in his own day “chief of men.” No nation so powerful as to be exempt from that irresistible intercession, where, beneath the garb of peace, was a gleam of arms. From France, even under the rule of Mazarin, he claimed respect for the Protestant name, which he insisted upon making great and glorious. From Spain, on whose extended empire the sun did not cease to shine, he required that no Englishman should be subject to the Inquisition. Reading to his Council a despatch from Admiral Blake, announcing justice obtained from the Viceroy of Malaga, Cromwell said, that “he hoped to make the name of Englishman as great as ever that of Roman had been.”[60] In this same exalted mood he turned to propose mediation between Protestant Sweden and Protestant Bremen, “chiefly bewailing, that, being both his friends, they should so despitefully combat one against another,” offering his assistance to “a commodious accommodation on both sides,” and exhorting them “by no means to refuse any honest conditions of reconciliation.”[61] Here was intervention between nation and nation; but it was soon followed by intervention in the internal affairs of a distant country, which of all the acts of Cromwell is the most touching and sublime. The French ambassador, while at Whitehall, urging the signature of a treaty, was unexpectedly interrupted by news from a secluded valley of the Alps, far away among mountain torrents, affluents of the Po, that a company of pious Protestants, for centuries gathered there, keeping the truth pure, “when all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,” were suffering terrible persecution from their sovereign, Emanuel of Savoy. Despoiled of all possessions and liberties, brutally driven from their homes, given over to licentious and infuriate violence, and then turning in self-defence, they had been “slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled mother with infant down the rocks”; and it was reported that French troops took part in the dismal transaction. The Protector heard the story, and his pity flashed into anger. He would not sign the treaty until France united with him in securing justice to these humble sufferers, whom he called the Lord’s people. For their relief he contributed out of his own purse two thousand pounds, and authorized a general collection throughout England, which reached a large sum; but besides money, he set apart a day of humiliation and prayer for them. Nor was this all. “I should be glad,” wrote his Secretary, Thurloe, “to have a most particular account of that business, and to know what is become of those poor people, for whom our very souls here do bleed.”[62] But a pen mightier than that of any plodding secretary was enlisted in this pious intervention. It was John Milton, glowing with that indignation which his sonnet “On the Massacre in Piemont” makes immortal in the heart of man, who wrote the magnificent despatches, where the English nation of that day, after declaring itself “linked together” with its distant brethren, “not only by the same tie of humanity, but by joint communion of the same religion,” naturally and grandly insisted that “both this edict and whatsoever may be decreed to their disturbance upon the account of the Reformed Religion” should be abrogated, “and that an end be put to their oppressions.”[63] Not content with this call upon the Duke of Savoy, the Protector appealed to Louis the Fourteenth and his Cardinal Minister, to the States General of Holland, the Protestant Cantons of Switzerland, the King of Denmark, the King of Sweden, and even to the Protestant Reformed Prince of remote Transylvania,—and always by the pen of Milton,—rallying these princes and powers in joint entreaty and intervention, and, if need were, to “some other course to be speedily taken, that such a numerous multitude of our innocent brethren may not miserably perish for want of succor and assistance.”[64] The Regent of Savoy, daughter of Henry the Fourth, professed to be affected by this English charity, and announced for her Protestant subjects a free pardon, and also “such privileges and graces as could not but give the Lord Protector a sufficient evidence how great a respect they bare both to his person and mediation.”[65] But there was still delay. Meanwhile Cromwell began to inquire where in the Prince’s territories English troops might debark, and Mazarin, anxious to complete the yet unfinished treaty, joined in requiring immediate pacification of the Valleys and the restoration of these persecuted people to their ancient liberties. It was done. Such is the grandest intervention of English history, inspired by Milton, enforced by Cromwell, and sustained by Louis the Fourteenth with his Cardinal Minister by his side, while foreign nations watched the scene.