No
man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as
abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the
House. But different men often see the same subject in different
lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful
to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character
very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely
and without reserve.
This
is no time for ceremony. The question before the House is one of
awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as
nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in
proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom
of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at
truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and
our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through
fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of
treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the
Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.
Mr.
President, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope.
We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to
the song of that siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this
the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for
liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having
eyes, see not, and, having ears, hear not, the things which so
nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever
anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth;
to know the worst, and to provide for it.
I
have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp
of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the
past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in
the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to
justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace
themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our
petition has been lately received?
Trust
it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not
yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this
gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike
preparations which cover our waters and darken our land.
Are
fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation?
Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force
must be called in to win back our love?
Let
us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and
subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask
gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not
to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible
motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the
world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No,
sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no
other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains
which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have
we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been
trying that for the last ten years.
Have
we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the
subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been
all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication?
What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let
us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves.
Sir,
we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which
is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have
supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and
have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of
the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our
remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our
supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with
contempt, from the foot of the throne!
In
vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and
reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope.
If
we wish to be free -- if we mean to preserve inviolate those
inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending --
if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have
been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to
abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained
-- we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms
and to the God of hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir,
that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary.
But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next
year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British
guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength
but irresolution and inaction?
Shall
we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on
our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our
enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if
we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath
placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause
of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are
invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us.
Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just
God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise
up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to
the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave.
Besides,
sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is
now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in
submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be
heard on the plains of Boston!
The
war is inevitable -- and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It
is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace,
Peace -- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next
gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of
resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we
here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is
life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of
chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God!
I
know not what course others may take but as for me: give me
liberty or give me death.
