[218]
Chapter 9:
- Northern protests against coercion -- the “New York Tribune,” Albany Argus, and New York Herald -- great public meeting in New York -- speeches of Thayer, exGovernor Seymour, ex-chancellor Walworth, and others -- the press in February, 1861 -- Lincoln's inaugural -- the marvelous change or Suppression of conservative sentiment -- historic precedents.
It is a great mistake, or misstatement of fact, to assume that at the period under consideration the Southern states stood alone in the assertion of the principles which have been laid down in this work, with regard to the right of secession and the wrong of coercion. Down to the formation of the Confederate government, the one was distinctly admitted, the other still more distinctly disavowed and repudiated, by many of the leaders of public opinion in the North of both parties—indeed, any purpose of direct coercion was disclaimed by nearly all. If presented at all, it was in the delusive and ambiguous guise of “the execution of the laws” and “protection of the public property.” The New York Tribune—the leading organ of the party which triumphed in the election of 1860—had said, soon after the result of that election was ascertained, with reference to secession: “We hold, with Jefferson, to the inalienable right of communities to alter or abolish forms of government that have become oppressive or injurious; and, if the cotton States shall decide that they can do better out of the Union than in it, we insist on letting them go in peace. The right to secede may be a revolutionary right, but it exists nevertheless; and we do not see how one party can have a right to do what another party has a right to prevent. We must ever resist the asserted right of any State to remain in the Union and nullify or defy the laws thereof: to withdraw from the Union is quite another matter. And, whenever a considerable section of our Union shall deliberately resolve to go out, we shall resist all coercive measures designed to keep her in. We hope never to live in a republic whereof one section is pinned to the residue by bayonets.1” The only liberty taken with this extract has been that of presenting certain parts of it in italics. Nothing that has ever been said by the author of this work, in the foregoing chapters, on the floor of the Senate, or elsewhere, more distinctly asserted the right of secession. Nothing [219] that has been quoted from Hamilton, or Madison, or Marshall, or John Quincy Adams, more emphatically repudiates the claim of right to restrain or coerce a state in the exercise of its free choice. Nothing that has been said since the war which followed could furnish a more striking condemnation of its origin, prosecution, purposes, and results. A comparison of the sentiments above quoted, with the subsequent career of the party, of which that journal was and long had been the recognized organ, would exhibit a striking incongruity and inconsistency. The Tribune was far from being singular among its Northern contemporaries in the entertainment of such views, as Greeley, its chief editor, has shown by many citations in his book, The American Conflict. The Albany Argus, about the same time, said in language which Greeley characterizes as “clear and temperate”: “We sympathize with and justify the South as far as this: their rights have been invaded to the extreme limit possible within the forms of the Constitution; and, beyond this limit, their feelings have been insulted and their interests and honor assailed by almost every possible form of denunciation and invective; and, if we deemed it certain that the real animus of the Republican party could be carried into the administration of the Federal Government, and become the permanent policy of the nation, we should think that all the instincts of self-preservation and of manhood rightfully impelled them to a resort to revolution and a separation from the Union, and we would applaud them and wish them godspeed in the adoption of such a remedy.” Again, the same paper said, a day or two afterward: “If South Carolina or any other State, through a convention of her people, shall formally separate herself from the Union, probably both the present and the next Executive will simply let her alone and quietly allow all the functions of the Federal Government within her limits to be suspended. Any other course would be madness; as it would at once enlist all the Southern States in the controversy and plunge the whole country into a civil war. . . . As a matter of policy and wisdom, therefore, independent of the question of right, we should deem resort to force most disastrous.” The New York Herald—a journal which claimed to be independent of all party influences—about the same period said: “Each State is organized as a complete government, holding the purse and wielding the sword, possessing the right to break the tie of the confederation as a nation might break a treaty, and to repel coercion as a nation might repel invasion. . . . Coercion, if it were possible, is out of the question.” On January 31, 1861—after six states had already seceded—a great [220] meeting was held in the city of New York, to consider the perilous condition of the country. At this meeting James S. Thayer, “an old-line Whig,” made a speech, which was received with great applause. The following extracts from the published report of Thayer's speech will show the character of the views which then commanded the cordial approval of that metropolitan audience:
We can at least, in an authoritative way and a practical manner, arrive at the basis of a peaceable separation. [Cheers.] We can at least by discussion enlighten, settle, and concentrate the public sentiment in the State of New York upon this question, and save it from that fearful current, which circuitously but certainly sweeps madly on, through the narrow gorge of “the enforcement of the laws,” to the shoreless ocean of civil war! [Cheers.] Against this, under all circumstances, in every place and form, we must now and at all times oppose a resolute and unfaltering resistance. The public mind will bear the avowal, and let us make it—that, if a revolution of force is to begin, it shall be inaugurated at home. And if the incoming Administration shall attempt to carry out the line of policy that has been fore-shadowed, we announce that, when the hand of Black Republicanism turns to blood-red, and seeks from the fragment of the Constitution to construct a scaffolding for coercion—another name for execution—we will reverse the order of the French Revolution, and save the blood of the people by making those who would inaugurate a reign of terror the first victims of a national guillotine! [Enthusiastic applause.]And again:
It is announced that the Republican Administration will enforce the laws against and in all the seceding States. A nice discrimination must be exercised in the performance of this duty. You remember the story of William Tell. . . . Let an arrow winged by the Federal bow strike the heart of an American citizen, and who can number the avenging darts that will cloud the heavens in the conflict that will ensue? [Prolonged applause.] What, then, is the duty of the State of New York? What shall we say to our people when we come to meet this state of facts? That the Union must be preserved? But if that can not be, what then? Peaceable separation. [Applause.] Painful and humiliating as it is, let us temper it with all we can of love and kindness, so that we may yet be left in a comparatively prosperous condition, in friendly relations with another Confederacy. [Cheers.]At the same meeting ex-Governor Horatio Seymour asked the question —on which subsequent events have cast their own commentary—whether “successful coercion by the North is less revolutionary than successful secession by the South? Shall we prevent revolution [he added] by being foremost in over-throwing the principles of our Government, and all that makes it valuable to our people and distinguishes it among the nations of the earth?” The venerable ex-Chancellor Walworth thus expressed himself:
It would be as brutal, in my opinion, to send men to butcher our own brothers [221] of the Southern States as it would be to massacre them in the Northern States. We are told, however, that it is our duty to, and we must, enforce the laws. But why—and what laws are to be enforced? There were laws that were to be enforced in the time of the American Revolution.. . . . Did Lord Chatham go for enforcing those laws? No, he gloried in defense of the liberties of America. He made that memorable declaration in the British Parliament, “If I were an American citizen, instead of being, as I am, an Englishman, I never would submit to such laws—never, never, never!” [Prolonged applause.]Other distinguished speakers expressed themselves in similar terms—varying somewhat in their estimate of the propriety of the secession of the Southern states, but all agreeing in emphatic and unqualified reprobation of the idea of coercion. A series of conciliatory resolutions was adopted, one of which declares that “civil war will not restore the Union, but will defeat for ever its reconstruction.” At a still later period—some time in the month of February—the Free Press, a leading paper in Detroit, had the following:
If there shall not be a change in the present seeming purpose to yield to no accommodation of the national difficulties, and if troops shall be raised in the North to march against the people of the South, a fire in the rear will be opened upon such troops, which will either stop their march altogether or wonderfully accelerate it.The Union, of Bangor, Maine, spoke no less decidedly to the same effect:
The difficulties between the North and the South must be compromised, or the separation of the States shall be peaceable. If the Republican party refuse to go the full length of the Crittenden amendment—which is the very least the South can or ought to take—then, here in Maine, not a Democrat will be found who will raise his arm against his brethren of the South. From one end of the State to the other let the cry of the Democracy be, Compromise or Peaceable Separation!That these were not expressions of isolated or exceptional sentiment is evident from the fact that they were copied with approval by other Northern journals. Lincoln, when delivering his inaugural address on March 4, 1861, had not so far lost all respect for the consecrated traditions of the founders of the Constitution and for the majesty of the principle of state sovereignty as openly to enunciate the claim of coercion. While arguing against the right to secede, and asserting his intention “to hold, occupy, and possess the property and places belonging to the Government, and collect the duties and imposts,” he says that, “beyond what may be necessary for these objects, there will be no invasion, no using of force against or among the people anywhere,” and appends to this declaration the following pledge: [222]
Where hostility to the United States shall be so great as to prevent competent resident citizens from holding the Federal offices, there will be no attempt to force obnoxious strangers among the people for that object. While the strict legal right may exist of the Government to enforce the exercise of these offices, the attempt to do so would be so irritating, and so nearly impracticable withal, that I deem it better to forego for the time the uses of such offices.These extracts will serve to show that the people of the South were not without grounds for cherishing the hope, to which they so fondly clung, that the separation would, indeed, be as peaceable in fact as it was, on their part, in purpose; that the conservative and patriotic feeling still existing in the North would control the elements of sectional hatred and bloodthirsty fanaticism; that there would be really “no war.” And here the ingenuous reader may very naturally ask, What became of all this feeling? How was it that, in the course of a few weeks, it had disappeared like a morning mist? Where was the host of men who had declared that an army marching to invade the Southern states should first pass over their dead bodies? No new question had arisen—no change in the attitude occupied by the seceding states—no cause for controversy not already existing when these utterances were made. And yet the sentiments which they expressed were so entirely swept away by the tide of reckless fury which soon afterward impelled an armed invasion of the South, that (with a few praiseworthy but powerless exceptions) scarcely a vestige of them was left. Not only were they obliterated, but seemingly forgotten. I leave to others to offer, if they can, an explanation of this strange phenomenon. To the student of human nature, however, it may not seem altogether without precedent, when he remembers certain other instances on record of mutations in public sentiment equally sudden and extraordinary. Ten thousand swords that would have leaped from their scabbards—as the English statesman thought—to avenge even a look of insult to a lovely queen, hung idly in their places when she was led to the scaffold in the midst of the vilest taunts and execrations. The case that we have been considering was, perhaps, only an illustration of the general truth that, in times of revolutionary excitement, the higher and better elements are crushed and silenced by the lower and baser—not so much on account of their greater extent, as of their greater violence.
