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are told this is not to be a war of aggression.
In one sense, that is true; in another, not. We have committed aggression upon no man. In all the broad land, in their rebel nest, in their traitor's camp, no truthful man can rise and say that he has ever been disturbed, though it be but for a single moment, in life, liberty, estate, character, or honor.
The day they began this unnatural, false, wicked, rebellious warfare, their lives were more secure, their property more secure by us — not by themselves, but by us — guarded far more securely than any people ever have had their lives and property secured, from the beginning of the world.
We have committed no oppression, have broken no compact, have exercised no unholy power; have been loyal, moderate, constitutional, and just.
We are a majority of the Union, and we will govern our own Union, within our own Constitution, in our own way. We are all Democrats.
We are all Republicans.
We acknowledge the sovereignty of the people within the rule of the Constitution; and under that Constitution, and beneath that flag, let traitors beware. . . . I propose that the people of this Union dictate to these rebels the terms of peace.
It may take thirty millions; it may take three hundred millions.
What then?
We have it. Loyally, nobly, grandly do the merchants of New York respond to the appeal of the Government.
It may cost us seven thousand men; it may cost us seventy-five thousand men in battle; it may cost us even seven hundred and fifty thousand men. What then?
We have them.
The blood of every loyal citizen of this Government is dear to me. My sons, my kinsmen, the young men who have grown up beneath my eye and beneath my care, they are all dear to me; but if the country's destiny, glory, tradition, greatness, freedom, government — written Constitutional Government — the only hope of a free people — demand it, let them all go. I am not here now to speak timorous words of peace, but to kindle the spirit of manly, determined war.... I say my mission here to-day is, to kindle the heart of New York for war. The Seventh Regiment is gone.
Let seventy and seven more follow.... Civil War, for the best of reasons upon one side, and the worst upon the other, is always dangerous to liberty — always fearful, always bloody; but, fellow-citizens, there are yet worse things than fear, than doubt and dread, and danger and blood.
Dishonor is worse.
Perpetual anarchy is worse.
States forever commingling and forever severing is worse.
Traitors and secessionists are worse.
To have star after star blotted out — to have stripe after stripe obscured — to have glory after glory dimmed — to have our women weep and our men blush for shame throughout generations yet to come; that and these are infinitely worse than blood.
The President himself,
continued the eloquent speaker,
a hero without knowing it — and I speak from knowledge, having known him from boyhood — the President says, “There are wrongs to be redressed, already long enough endured.”
And we march to battle and to victory, because we do not choose to endure these wrongs any longer.
They are wrongs not merely against us; not against you, Mr. President; not against me, but against our sons and against our grandsons that surround us. They are wrongs against our ensign; they are wrongs against our Union; they are wrongs against our Constitution; they are wrongs against human hope and human freedom. . . While I speak, following in the wake of men so eloquent, so conservative, so eminent, so loyal, so well known — even while I speak, the object of your
