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[115] as a reinforcement of one hundred thousand men. It was the first trumpet-note of freedom. Its echoes reverberated among the hills of peaceful and happy New England, across the fertile valleys of the Susquehanna and the Genesee, and over the broad prairies of the West, sweeping them like their own destructive fires, until the dying cadences were lost, mingling with the paeans of rejoicing that came answering back to us from that last and brightest star in liberty's greatest constellation. Never before was a Government so cordially sustained by the people. They have responded to this call upon their patriotism with a loyalty, a devotion and enthusiasm which has no parallel in history. Nobly have the people done their duty. It remains for the Government to do theirs — to do the will of the people. The paper blockade is well. Let the Government see that it immediately becomes efficient, especially at the mouth of the Mississippi. Let the Government forever discard its “do little and drift along” policy, and give the people action, action — prompt, vigorous, energetic, crushing, bloody, and decisive. Let it quit searching musty law tomes for precedents. Make precedents. The idea of the government being harnessed down by the iron bands of formula and delay when dealing with revolutionists, traitors, and rebels, is criminal and absurd. Inter arma leges silent. When Gen. Jackson threatened to hang Calhoun, he was told by his Attorney-General that there was no law for it. His reply was, “If you can't find law for me, I will appoint an Attorney-General who can.” If the Government will adopt a vigorous policy the law for every thing it does will be found in the hearts of the people. The eyes of the people are upon the Government. They cannot wait its tardy action. They will reward energy, and will hold it to a strict accountability for imbecility. The war will be short and decisive; or long, disastrous, and without permanent results, unless the Government does its whole duty. The time for defensive warfare has passed, and the time for aggressive action has come. The strongest defence is counter attack. Carry the war literally into Africa, by marching upon Virginia. Liberate the Africans, if need be, to crush out this most unnatural rebellion. Take military control of all the avenues leading to Washington, north, south, east, and west. In Baltimore are loyal men, but if they are not strong enough to quell the rebels in their midst, the government must do it for them. The transit through Baltimore must be kept unobstructed, even if it be necessary to lay the city in ashes and inscribe upon its monuments:--“Here stood the Monumental city.” If the government yields to the clamors of a mob or even to the “urgent requests” of the Mayor and Governor not to send troops through the city, it will lose the hearty confidence and support of the people which it now enjoys, and be disgraced in the eyes of the nation and the world. Suppose a request had been made to the Emperor Napoleon under similar circumstances, would he have heeded it? He would have said, as he did when somewhat similarly placed, “My soldiers want bread and wine; if you do not supply it immediately, I will.” It is hardly necessary to add, that the provisions were supplied. The Government should at once plant batteries along the entire southern bank of the Potomac, and not wait for the rebels to do it, and point their cannon against the capital. It should lay in ashes those cities, whether on the sea-coast or in the interior, whose citizens attempt, in any way, to interfere with our navy or our army in the execution of the commands of the Government. The mails South should all be stopped. The telegraph, railroad, and every leading avenue of communication to the South should be under a military control sufficiently strong to stop all communication. The rebels should be left in outer darkness, to wrangle and fight among themselves. Cairo should at once be made a military post. Not a word of intelligence, not a pound of provisions, no supplies of any kind, should be permitted to pass the military border which the Government ought immediately to establish. In short, all transit and communication of every kind southward should be stopped. But I will not enlarge upon suggestions as to the policy of the Government. I only wish that it may know that the people demand action. Deeds, not words, are what the people now expect. The flag which is the emblem of their nationality has been derided, defied, trampled upon, and trailed in the dust by traitors. The honor of that flag must be sustained; the insult must be washed out in blood. Nothing else can restore its tarnished lustre. A flag is the representation of history, the emblem of heroic daring and of brave deeds. The associations of a flag alone make it sacred. Who sees the tri-color of France, without thinking of Napoleon and the army of Italy, of Marengo and Austerlitz, of Moscow and Waterloo? No man can read of the strife of Lexington and Concord, whose heart does not thrill with emotion at this glorious baptism of the Stars and Stripes. No man can see the banner of the republic, now waving in triumph from Bunker's height, and not with startled ear and glowing breast hear the din of the conflict, behold the fierce repulse of advancing squadrons, and the flames of burning Charlestown. No man, even from the sunny South, can be at Saratoga, and not tread with exultant step and throbbing heart the ground where the Star-spangled Banner first successfully rolled back the tide of British power and aggression. No man can think of that sacred emblem trailing in blood through the snows of Valley Forge, or across the frozen Delaware, or amid the swamps of Carolina, and not weep that the patriotism of the Jaspers, the Sumters, and the Marions, no longer burns upon their native altars; and so through the long and dark hours of that dreary struggle — the gallant defence of Moultrie, at Cowpens and Eutaw Springs — at a “time which tried men's souls,” when the strong became weak, the hopeful despondent, the bold grew timid, and the tattered ensign seemed but a funereal pall or winding-sheet to envelop the nakedness of a forlorn cause, until it covered, a. with a brilliant mantle of glory and redemption, the new-born republic at Yorktown — that sacred flag was upborne on many a hard-fought field, and carried in triumph through many an unequal contest. Although not yet in the prime of manhood, I have roamed much in my day; and wherever I have been, an, association that awakened recollections of the land of my birth was peculiarly pleasing. But especially were my feelings kindled into enthusiasm when that silent appeal was made to my patriotism, by beholding “the gorgeous ensign of the republic,” so long “known and honored throughout the world.” When I gazed upon its ample folds, floating to the breeze, and spreading the broad wings of its protection over our citizens in remotest seas, I felt a thrill of pleasure which experience only can know, and which language would fail to describe. I have seen its Stars and Stripes waving in Polar seas, and beheld its graceful folds fluttering in the light winds of torrid climes;

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