CHAPTER I.

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

_Tenth Thousand._

THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. A History. By ROBERT MACKENZIE. Crown

8vo, Cloth Antique. Price 7s. 6d.

Presenting in a handy form a history of the great events

and movements of the present century, in our own country,

throughout the British Empire, on the Continent of Europe, and

in America.

_THE TIMES._--“A valuable addition to the library.”

_THE SCOTSMAN._--“The central idea of the work and the chief

aim of the writer is displayed in his very evident design to

trace the growth of free institutions in the different States

of Europe, and particularly in England.… No more instructive

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generation of the present day. The book is written in a terse

and pointed style. The movement is rapid throughout; and though

the scene frequently changes, its central thought--that of the

education of the race in the spirit of freedom--is never lost

sight of for a moment.”

_DAILY REVIEW._--“Written with rare power and skill;

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T. NELSON AND SONS, LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK.

AMERICA.

A History.

I.--THE UNITED STATES.

II.--DOMINION OF CANADA.

III.--SOUTH AMERICA, &c.

_By ROBERT MACKENZIE_

[Illustration]

London:

T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.

EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK.

1882.

[_All Rights Reserved._]

CONTENTS.

THE UNITED STATES.

BOOK FIRST.

I. DISCOVERY, 11

II. COLONIZATION, 18

III. VIRGINIA, 22

IV. NEW ENGLAND, 28

V. THE NEW ENGLAND PERSECUTIONS, 38

VI. WITCHCRAFT IN NEW ENGLAND, 43

VII. THE INDIANS, 46

VIII. NEW YORK, 48

IX. PENNSYLVANIA, 51

X. GEORGIA, 54

XI. SLAVERY, 58

XII. EARLY GOVERNMENT, 64

BOOK SECOND.

I. GEORGE WASHINGTON, 67

II. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, 71

III. THE VALLEY OF THE OHIO, 73

IV. AMERICA ON THE EVE OF THE REVOLUTION, 81

V. BUNKER HILL, 96

VI. INDEPENDENCE, 104

VII. AT WAR, 107

VIII. SYMPATHY BEYOND THE SEA, 112

IX. THE WAR CONTINUES, 114

X. THE SURRENDER AT SARATOGA, 117

XI. HELP FROM EUROPE, 119

XII. MAJOR ANDRÉ, 123

XIII. THE CLOSE OF THE WAR, 127

XIV. THE THIRTEEN STATES BECOME A NATION, 132

XV. THE WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN, 141

BOOK THIRD.

I. KING COTTON, 154

II. SLAVERY, 158

III. MISSOURI, 164

IV. HOPE FOR THE NEGRO, 166

V. TEXAS, 170

VI. THE WAR WITH MEXICO, 173

VII. CALIFORNIA, 176

VIII. KANSAS, 179

IX. THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY, 183

X. JOHN BROWN, 186

XI. EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY, 190

XII. SECESSION, 196

XIII. THE TWO PRESIDENTS, 200

BOOK FOURTH.

I. THE FIRST BLOW STRUCK, 204

II. THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN, 211

III. “ON TO RICHMOND,” 213

IV. LIBERTY TO THE CAPTIVE, 224

V. CONFEDERATE SUCCESSES, 228

VI. THE WAR CONTINUES, 231

VII. GETTYSBURG, 236

VIII. THE LAST CAMPAIGN, 242

IX. THE MURDER OF THE PRESIDENT, 256

X. THE LOSSES AND THE GAINS OF THE WAR, 259

XI. AFTER THE WAR, 262

XII. HOW THE AMERICANS CARED FOR THEIR SOLDIERS, 267

BOOK FIFTH.

I. REUNITED AMERICA, 270

II. ENGLAND AND AMERICA, 278

III. INDUSTRIAL AMERICA, 283

IV. EDUCATION IN AMERICA, 293

V. EUROPE AND AMERICA, 299

POSTSCRIPT--PRESIDENT GARFIELD, 303

THE DOMINION OF CANADA.

I. THE DAWN OF CANADIAN HISTORY, 311

II. SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN, 317

III. THE JESUITS IN CANADA, 324

IV. THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI, 333

V. THE AMERICAN CONTINENT GAINED BY THE BRITISH, 337

VI. COLONIZATION BY FRANCE AND BY ENGLAND, 348

VII. AFTER THE CONQUEST, 354

VIII. CANADA DURING THE WAR OF INDEPENDENCE, 361

IX. CONSTITUTIONAL GOVERNMENT, 364

X. THE WAR OF 1812, 368

XI. DOMESTIC STRIFE, 373

XII. THE CANADIAN REVOLUTION, 380

XIII. CONFEDERATION, 394

XIV. THE MARITIME PROVINCES, 399

XV. THE PROVINCES OF THE NORTH-WEST, 409

XVI. THE PROGRESS OF THE CANADIAN NATION, 426

SOUTH AMERICA.

I. DISCOVERY AND CONQUEST, 439

II. THE INDIANS OF SPANISH AMERICA, 466

III. SPANISH GOVERNMENT OF THE NEW WORLD, 479

IV. REVOLUTION, 494

V. INDEPENDENCE, 511

VI. THE CHURCH OF ROME IN SPANISH AMERICA, 534

VII. BRAZIL, 544

THE UNITED STATES.

Book First.

CHAPTER I.

DISCOVERY.

It was late in the history of the world before Europe and America

became known to each other. During the first fifteen centuries of the

Christian era Europe was unaware of the vast continent which lay beyond

the sea. Asia had ceased to influence her. Africa had not begun. Her

history was waiting for the mighty influence which America was to

exercise in her affairs through all the future ages.

Men had been slow to establish completely their dominion over the sea.

They learned very early to build ships. They availed themselves very

early of the surprising power which the helm exerts over the movements

of a ship. But, during many ages, they found no surer guidance upon

the pathless sea than that which the position of the sun and the stars

afforded. When clouds intervened to deprive them of this uncertain

direction, they were helpless. They were thus obliged to keep the land

in view, and content themselves with creeping timidly along the coast.

But at length there was discovered a stone which the wise Creator had

endowed with strange properties. It was observed that a needle brought

once into contact with that stone pointed ever afterwards steadfastly

to the north. Men saw that with a needle thus influenced they could

guide themselves at sea as surely as on land. The Mariners’ Compass

untied the bond which held sailors to the coast, and gave them liberty

to push out into the sea.

Just when sailors were slowly learning to put confidence in the

mariners’ compass, there arose in Europe a vehement desire for the

discovery of unknown countries. A sudden interest sprang up in all that

was distant and unexplored. The strange fables told by travellers were

greedily received. The human mind was beginning to cast off the torpor

of the Middle Ages. As intelligence increased, men became increasingly

eager to ascertain the form and extent of the world in which they

dwelt, and to acquaint themselves with those unknown races who were

their fellow-inhabitants.

Portugal and Spain, looking out upon the boundless sea, were powerfully

stirred by the new impulse. The Courts of Lisbon and Madrid swarmed

with adventurers who had made discoveries, or who wished the means

to make them. Conspicuous among these was an enthusiast, who during

eighteen years had not ceased to importune incredulous monarchs for

ships and men that he might open up the secrets of the sea. He was a

tall man, of grave and gentle manners, and noble though saddened look.

His eye was gray, “apt to enkindle” when he spoke of those discoveries

in the making of which he felt himself to be Heaven’s chosen agent.

He had known hardship and sorrow in his youth, and at thirty his hair

was white. He was the son of a Genoese wool-comber, and his name was

Christopher Columbus. In him the universal passion for discovery rose

to the dignity of an inspiration.

No sailor of our time would cross the Atlantic in such ships as were

given to Columbus. In size they resembled the smaller of our river and

coasting vessels. Only one of them was decked. The others were open,

save at the prow and stern, where cabins were built for the crew. The

sailors went unwillingly and in much fear--compelled by an order from

the King. With such ships and such men Columbus left the land behind

him and pushed out into these unknown waters. To him there were no

dangers, no difficulties--God, who had chosen him to do this work,

would sustain him for its accomplishment. He sailed on the 3rd of

August 1492. On the 12th of October, in the dim light of early morning,

he gazed out from the deck of his little ship upon the shores of a new

world. His victory was gained; his work was done. How great it was he

himself never knew. He died in the belief that he had merely discovered

a shorter route to India. He never enjoyed that which would have been

the best recompense for all his toil--the knowledge that he had added a

vast continent to the possessions of civilized men.

The revelation by Columbus of the amazing fact that there were lands

beyond the great ocean, inhabited by strange races of human beings,

roused to a passionate eagerness the thirst for fresh discoveries.

The splendours of the newly-found world were indeed difficult to be

resisted. Wealth beyond the wildest dreams of avarice could be had, it

was said, for the gathering. The sands of every river sparkled with

gold. The very colour of the ground showed that gold was profusely

abundant. The meanest of the Indians ornamented himself with gold and

jewels. The walls of the houses glittered with pearls. There was a

fountain, if one might but find it, whose waters bestowed perpetual

youth upon the bather. The wildest romances were greedily received, and

the Old World, with its familiar and painful realities, seemed mean and

hateful beside the fabled glories of the New.

Europe then enjoyed a season of unusual calm--a short respite from the

habitual toil of war--as if to afford men leisure to enter on their new

possession. The last of the Moors had taken his last look at Granada,

and Spain had rest from her eight centuries of war. In England, the

Wars of the Roses had ceased. After thirty years of hard fighting and

huge waste of life and property, the fortunate English had been able to

determine which branch of a certain old family was to rule over them.

Henry VII., with his clear, cold head, and his heavy hand, was guiding

his people somewhat forcibly towards the victories of peace. Even

France tasted the joy of repose. The Reformation was at hand. While

Columbus was holding his uncertain way across the great Atlantic, a boy

called Martin Luther was attending school in a small German town. The

time was not far off, but as yet the mind of Europe was not engrossed

by those religious strifes which were soon to convulse it.

The men whose trade was fighting turned gladly in this idle time to

the world where boundless wealth was to be wrung from the grasp of

unwarlike barbarians. England and France had missed the splendid prize

which Columbus had won for Spain. They hastened now to secure what they

could. A merchant of Bristol, John Cabot, obtained permission from the

King of England to make discoveries in the northern parts of America.

Cabot was to bear all expenses, and the King was to receive one-fifth

of the gains of the adventure. Taking with him his son Sebastian, John

Cabot sailed straight westward across the Atlantic. [Sidenote: 1497

A.D.] He reached the American continent, of which he was the undoubted

discoverer. The result to him was disappointing. He landed on the coast

of Labrador. Being in the same latitude as England, he reasoned that

he should find the same genial climate. To his astonishment he came

upon a region of intolerable cold, dreary with ice and snow. John Cabot

had not heard of the Gulf Stream and its marvellous influences. He did

not know that the western shores of northern Europe are rescued from

perpetual winter, and warmed up to the enjoyable temperature which

they possess, by an enormous river of hot water flowing between banks

of cold water eastward from the Gulf of Mexico. The Cabots made many

voyages afterwards, and explored the American coast from extreme north

to extreme south.

The French turned their attention to the northern parts of the New

World. The rich fisheries of Newfoundland attracted them. A Frenchman

sailed up the great St. Lawrence river. After some failures a French

settlement was established there, and for a century and a half the

French peopled Canada, until the English relieved them of the ownership.

Spanish adventurers never rested from their eager search after the

treasures of the new continent. An aged warrior called Ponce de

Leon fitted out an expedition at his own cost. He had heard of the

marvellous fountain whose waters would restore to him the years of

his wasted youth. He searched in vain. The fountain would not reveal

itself to the foolish old man, and he had to bear without relief the

burden of his profitless years. But he found a country hitherto unseen

by Europeans, which was clothed with magnificent forests, and seemed

to bloom with perpetual flowers. He called it Florida. He attempted

to found a colony in the paradise he had discovered. But the natives

attacked him, slew many of his men, and drove the rest to their ships,

carrying with them their chief, wounded to death by the arrow of an

Indian.

* * * * *

Ferdinand de Soto had been with Pizarro in his expedition to Peru,

and returned to Spain enriched by his share of the plunder. He did

not doubt that in the north were cities as rich and barbarians as

confiding. An expedition to discover new regions, and plunder their

inhabitants, was fitted out under his command. No one doubted that

success equal to that of Cortes and Pizarro would attend this new

adventure. The youth of Spain were eager to be permitted to go, and

they sold houses and lands to buy them the needful equipment. Six

hundred men, in the prime of life, were chosen from the crowd of

applicants, and the expedition sailed, high in courage, splendid in

aspect, boundless in expectation. [Sidenote: 1539 A.D.] They landed on

the coast of Florida, and began their march into the wilderness. They

had fetters for the Indians whom they meant to take captive. They had

bloodhounds, lest these captives should escape. The camp swarmed with

priests, and as they marched the festivals and processions enjoined by

the Church were devoutly observed.

From the outset it was a toilsome and perilous enterprise; but to the

Spaniard of that time danger was a joy. The Indians were warlike, and

generally hostile. De Soto had pitched battles to fight and heavy

losses to bear. Always he was victorious, but he could ill afford the

cost of many such victories. The captive Indians amused him with tales

of regions where gold abounded. They had learned that ignorance on that

subject was very hazardous. De Soto had stimulated their knowledge

by burning to death some who denied the existence of gold in that

country. The Spaniards wandered slowly northwards. They looked eagerly

for some great city, the plunder of whose palaces and temples would

enrich them all. They found nothing better than occasionally an Indian

town, composed of a few miserable huts. It was all they could do to get

needful food. At length they came to a magnificent river. European eyes

had seen no such river till now. It was about a mile in breadth, and

its mass of water swept downward to the sea with a current of amazing

strength. It was the Mississippi. The Spaniards built vessels and

ferried themselves to the western bank.

There they resumed their wanderings. De Soto would not yet admit that

he had failed. He still hoped that the plunder of a rich city would

reward his toils. For many months the Spaniards strayed among the

swamps and dense forests of that dreary region. The natives showed

at first some disposition to be helpful. But the Spaniards, in their

disappointment, were pitiless and savage. They amused themselves by

inflicting pain upon the prisoners. They cut off their hands; they

hunted them with bloodhounds; they burned them at the stake. The

Indians became dangerous. De Soto hoped to awe them by claiming to be

one of the gods, but the imposture was too palpable. “How can a man be

God when he cannot get bread to eat?” asked a sagacious savage. It was

now three years since De Soto had landed in America. The utter failure

of the expedition would no longer conceal, and the men wished to return

home. Broken in spirit and in frame, De Soto caught fever and died.

His soldiers felled a tree and scooped room within its trunk for the

body of the ill-fated adventurer. They could not bury their chief on

land, lest the Indians should dishonour his remains. In the silence

of midnight the rude coffin was sunk in the Mississippi, and the

discoverer of the great river slept beneath its waters. The Spaniards

promptly resolved now to make their way to Cuba. They had tools, and

wood was abundant. They slew their horses for flesh; they plundered

the Indians for bread; they struck the fetters from their prisoners to

reinforce their scanty supply of iron. They built ships enough to float

them down the Mississippi. Three hundred ragged and disheartened men

were all that remained of the brilliant company whose hopes had been so

high, whose good fortune had been so much envied.

CHAPTER II.

COLONIZATION.

For many years European adventurers continued to resort to the American

coast in the hope of finding the way to immediate wealth. Some feeble

attempts had been made to colonize. Here and there a few families had

been planted, but hunger or the Indians always extinguished those

infant settlements. The great idea of colonizing America was slow to

take possession of European minds. The Spaniard sought for Indians

to plunder. The Englishman believed in gold-mines and the north-west

passage to India. It was not till America had been known for a hundred

years that men began to think of finding a home beyond the Atlantic.

The courage and endurance of the early voyagers excite our wonder.

Few of them sailed in ships so large as a hundred tons burden. The

merchant ships of that time were very small. The royal navies of Europe

contained large vessels, but commerce was too poor to employ any but

the smallest. The commerce of imperial Rome employed ships which even

now would be deemed large. St. Paul was wrecked in a ship of over

five hundred tons burden. Josephus sailed in a ship of nearly one

thousand tons. Europe contented herself, as yet, with vessels of a very

different class. A ship of forty or fifty tons was deemed sufficient by

the daring adventurers who sought to reach the Land of Promise beyond

the great sea. Occasionally toy-ships of twenty or twenty-five tons

were used. The brother of Sir Walter Raleigh crossed the Atlantic in

such a ship, and perished in it as he attempted to return to England.

* * * * *

It was not a pleasant world which the men and women of Europe had

to live in during the sixteenth century. Fighting was the constant

occupation of the Kings of that time. A year of peace was a rare

and somewhat wearisome exception. Kings habitually, at their own

unquestioned pleasure, gathered their subjects together, and marched

them off to slay and plunder their neighbours. Civil wars were

frequent. In these confused strifes men slew their acquaintances and

friends as the only method they knew of deciding who was to fill the

throne. Feeble Commerce was crushed under the iron heel of War. No

such thing as security for life or property was expected. The fields

of the husbandman were trodden down by the march of armies. Disbanded

or deserted soldiers wandered as “masterless men” over the country,

and robbed and murdered at their will. Highwaymen abounded--although

highways could scarcely be said to exist. Epidemic diseases of strange

type, the result of insufficient feeding and the poisonous air of

undrained lands and filthy streets, desolated all European countries.

Under what hardships and miseries the men of the sixteenth century

passed their days, it is scarcely possible for us now to conceive.

The English Parliament once reminded James I. of certain “undoubted

rights” which they possessed. The King told them, in reply, that he

“did not like this style of talking, but would rather hear them say

that all their privileges were derived by the grace and permission of

the sovereign.” Europe, during the sixteenth century, had no better

understanding of the matter than James had. It was not supposed that

the King was made for the people; it seemed rather to be thought that

the people were made for the King. Here and there some man wiser than

ordinary perceived the truth, so familiar to us, that a King is merely

a great officer appointed by the people to do certain work for them.

There was a Glasgow professor who taught in those dark days that the

authority of the King was derived from the people, and ought to be

used for their good. Two of his pupils were John Knox the reformer,

and George Buchanan the historian, by whom this doctrine, so great and

yet so simple, was clearly perceived and firmly maintained. But to the

great mass of mankind it seemed that the King had divine authority to

dispose of his subjects and their property according to his pleasure.

Poor patient humanity still bowed in lowly reverence before its Kings,

and bore, without wondering or murmuring, all that it pleased them to

inflict. No stranger superstition has ever possessed the human mind

than this boundless mediæval veneration for the King--a veneration

which follies the most abject, vices the most enormous, were not able

to quench.

But as this unhappy century draws towards its close, the elements of a

most benign change are plainly seen at work. The Bible has been largely

read. The Bible is the book of all ages and of all circumstances. But

never, surely, since its first gift to man was it more needful to any

age than to that which now welcomed its restoration with wonder and

delight. It took deep hold on the minds of men. It exercised a silent

influence which gradually changed the aspect of society. The narrative

portions of Scripture were especially acceptable to the untutored

intellect of that time; and thus the Old Testament was preferred to

the New. This preference led to some mistakes. Rules which had been

given to an ancient Asiatic people were applied in circumstances for

which they were never intended or fitted. It is easy to smile at

these mistakes. But it is impossible to over-estimate the social and

political good which we now enjoy as a result of this incessant reading

of the Bible by the people of the sixteenth century.

In nearly all European countries the King claimed to regulate the

religious belief of his subjects. Even in England that power was still

claimed. The people were beginning to suspect that they were entitled

to think for themselves--a suspicion which grew into an indignant

certainty, and widened and deepened till it swept from the throne the

unhappy House of Stuart.

A little way into the seventeenth century America became the refuge of

those who would not receive their faith at the bidding of the King.

The best part of American colonization resulted from the foolish and

insolent oppressions of Europe. At the beginning, however, it was not

so. It was from an impulse of vagrant blackguardism that the first

American colony sprang.

CHAPTER III.

VIRGINIA.

Sir Walter Raleigh spent a large fortune in attempting to colonize

Virginia. He succeeded in directing the attention of his countrymen

to the region which had kindled his own enthusiasm, but his colonies

never prospered. Sometimes the colonists returned home disgusted by the

hardships of the wilderness. Once they were massacred by the Indians.

When help came from England the infant settlement was in ruins. The

bones of unburied men lay about the fields; wild deer strayed among the

untenanted houses. Once a colony wholly disappeared. To this day its

fate is unknown.

Sir Walter was enduring his long captivity in the Tower, writing his

“History of the World,” and moaning piteously over the havoc which

prison-damps wrought upon his handsome frame. The time had now come,

and his labours were about to bear fruit. The history of Virginia

was about to open. It opened with meagre promise. [Sidenote: 1606

A.D.] A charter from the King established a Company whose function

was to colonize--whose privilege was to trade. The Company sent out

an expedition which sailed in three small vessels. It consisted of

one hundred and five men. Of these one-half were gentlemen of broken

fortune; some were tradesmen; others were footmen. Only a very few

were farmers, or mechanics, or persons in any way fitted for the life

they sought. Morally the aspect of the expedition was even more

discouraging. “An hundred dissolute persons” were on board the ships.

The respectable portions of the expedition must have gone into very

little room.

But, happily for Virginia, there sailed with these reprobate founders

of a new empire a man whom Providence had highly gifted with fitness to

govern his fellow-men. His name was John Smith. No writer of romance

would have given his hero this name; but, in spite of his name, the

man was truly heroic. He was still under thirty, a strong-limbed,

deep-chested, massively-built man. From boyhood he had been a

soldier--roaming over the world in search of adventures, wherever hard

blows were being exchanged. He was mighty in single combat. Once, while

opposing armies looked on, he vanquished three Turks, and, like David,

cut off their heads, and bore them to his tent. Returning to England

when the passion for colonizing was at its height, he caught at once

the prevailing impulse. He joined the Virginian expedition; ultimately

he became its chief. His fitness was so manifest, that no reluctance on

his own part, no jealousies on that of his companions, could bar him

from the highest place. Men became Kings of old by the same process

which now made Smith a chief.

The “dissolute persons” sailed in their ships up the James river.

Landing there, they proceeded to construct a little town, which they

named Jamestown, in honour of the King. This was the first colony which

struck its roots in American soil. The colonists were charmed with

the climate and with the luxuriant beauty of the wilderness on whose

confines they had settled. But as yet it was only a wilderness. The

forest had to be cleared that food might be grown. The exiled gentlemen

laboured manfully, but under grievous discouragements. “The axes so oft

blistered their tender fingers, that many times every third blow had a

loud oath to drown the echo.” Smith was a man upon whose soul there lay

a becoming reverence for sacred things. He devised how to have every

man’s oaths numbered; “and at night, for every oath, to have a can of

water poured down his sleeve.” Under this treatment the evil assuaged.

The emigrants had landed in early spring. Summer came with its burning

heat; supplies of food ran low. “Had we been as free from all sins

as from gluttony and drunkenness,” Smith wrote, “we might have been

canonized as saints.” The colonists sickened and died. From those poor

blistered fingers dropped for ever the unaccustomed axe. Before autumn

every second man had died. But the hot Virginian sun, which proved so

deadly to the settlers, ripened the wheat they had sowed in the spring,

and freed the survivors from the pressure of want. Winter brought them

a healthier temperature and abundant supplies of wild-fowl and game.

When the welfare of the colony was in some measure secured, Smith set

forth with a few companions to explore the interior of the country. He

and his followers were captured by the Indians, and the followers were

summarily butchered. Smith’s composure did not fail him in the worst

extremity. He produced his pocket-compass, and interested the savages

by explaining its properties. He wrote a letter in their sight--to

their infinite wonder. They spared him, and made a show of him in all

the settlements round about. He was to them an unfathomable mystery.

He was plainly superhuman. Whether his power would bring to them good

or evil, they were not able to determine. After much hesitation they

chose the course which prudence seem to counsel. They resolved to

extinguish powers so formidable, regarding whose use they could obtain

no guarantee. Smith was bound and stretched upon the earth, his head

resting upon a great stone. The mighty club was uplifted to dash out

his brains. But Smith was a man who won golden opinions of all. The

Indian chief had a daughter, Pocahontas, a child of ten or twelve

years. She could not bear to see the pleasing Englishman destroyed.

As Smith lay waiting the fatal stroke, she caught him in her arms

and interposed herself between him and the club. Her intercession

prevailed, and Smith was set free.

Five years later, “an honest and discreet” young Englishman called

John Rolfe loved this young Indian girl. He had a sore mental struggle

about uniting himself with “one of barbarous breeding and of a cursed

race.” But love triumphed. He laboured for her conversion, and had the

happiness of seeing her baptized in the little church of Jamestown.

Then he married her. After a time he took her home to England. Her

appearance was pleasing; her mind was acute; her piety was sincere; her

manners bore picturesque evidence of her forest upbringing. The English

King and Court regarded her with lively interest as the first-fruits

of the wilderness. Great hopes were founded on this union of the two

races. She is the brightest picture--this young Virginian wife and

mother--which the history of the doomed native races presents to us.

But she did not live to revisit her native land. Death parted her very

early from her husband and her child.

When Smith returned from captivity the colony was on the verge of

extinction. Only thirty-eight persons were left, and they were

preparing to depart. With Smith, hope returned to the despairing

settlers. They resumed their work, confident in the resources of their

chief. Fresh arrivals from England cheered them. The character of

these reinforcements had not as yet improved. “Vagabond gentlemen”

formed still a large majority of the settlers--many of them, we are

told, “packed off to escape worse destinies at home.” The colony, thus

composed, had already gained a very bad reputation: so bad that some,

rather than be sent there, “chose to be hanged, _and were_.” Over

these most undesirable subjects Smith ruled with an authority which no

man dared or desired to question. But he was severely injured by an

accidental explosion of gunpowder. Surgical aid was not in the colony.

Smith required to go to England, and once more hungry ruin settled

down upon Virginia. [Sidenote: 1610 A.D.] In six months the five

hundred men whom Smith had left dwindled to sixty. These were already

embarked and departing, when they were met by Lord Delaware, the new

governor. Once more the colony was saved.

Years of quiet growth succeeded. Emigrants--not wholly now of the

dissolute sort--flowed steadily in. Bad people bore rule in England

during most of the seventeenth century, and they sold the good people

to be slaves in Virginia. The victims of the brutal Judge Jeffreys--the

Scotch Covenanters taken at Bothwell Bridge--were shipped off to this

profitable market. In 1688 the population of Virginia had increased

to 50,000. The little wooden capital swelled out. Other little wooden

towns established themselves. Deep in the unfathomed wilderness rose

the huts of adventurous settlers, in secluded nooks, by the banks of

nameless Virginian streams. A semblance of roads connected the youthful

communities. The Indians were relentlessly suppressed. The Virginians

bought no land; they took what they required--slaying or expelling

the former occupants. Perhaps there were faults on both sides. Once

the Indians planned a massacre so cunningly that over three hundred

Englishmen perished before the bloody hand of the savages could be

stayed.

The early explorers of Virginia found tobacco in extensive use

among the Indians. It was the chief medicine of the savages. Its

virtues--otherwise unaccountable--were supposed to proceed from a

spiritual presence whose home was in the plant. Tobacco was quickly

introduced into England, where it rose rapidly into favour. Men who had

heretofore smoked only hemp knew how to prize tobacco. King James wrote

vehemently against it. He issued a proclamation against trading in an

article which was corrupting to mind and body. He taxed it heavily when

he could not exclude it. The Pope excommunicated all who smoked in

churches. But, in defiance of law and reason, the demand for tobacco

continued to increase.

The Virginians found their most profitable occupation in supplying

this demand. So eager were they, that tobacco was grown in the squares

and streets of Jamestown. In the absence of money tobacco became the

Virginian currency. Accounts were kept in tobacco. The salaries of

members of Assembly, the stipends of clergymen, were paid in tobacco;

offences were punished by fines expressed in tobacco. Absence from

church cost the delinquent fifty pounds; refusing to have his child

baptized, two thousand pounds; entertaining a Quaker, five thousand

pounds. When the stock of tobacco was unduly large, the currency was

debased, and much inconvenience resulted. The Virginians corrected this

evil in their monetary system by compelling every planter to burn a

certain proportion of his stock.

Within a few years of the settlement the Virginians had a written

Constitution, according to which they were ruled. They had a Parliament

chosen by the burghs, and a Governor sent them from England. The

Episcopal Church was established among them, and the colony divided

into parishes. A college was erected for the use not only of the

English, but also of the most promising young Indians. But they never

became an educated people. The population was widely scattered, so that

schools were almost impossible. In respect of education, Virginia fell

far behind her sisters in the North.

CHAPTER IV.

NEW ENGLAND.

A little more than two centuries ago New England was one vast forest.

Here and there a little space was cleared, a little corn was raised; a

few Indian families made their temporary abode. The savage occupants

of the land spent their profitless lives to no better purpose than

in hunting and fighting. The rivers which now give life to so much

cheerful industry flowed uselessly to the sea. Providence had prepared

a home which a great people might fitly inhabit. Let us see whence

and how the men were brought who were the destined possessors of its

opulence.

The Reformation had taught that every man is entitled to read his Bible

for himself, and guide his life by the light he obtains from it. But

the lesson was too high to be soon learned. Protestant princes no more

than Popish could permit their subjects to think for themselves. James

I. had just ascended the English throne. His were the head of a fool

and the heart of a tyrant. He would allow no man to separate himself

from the Established Church. He would “harry out of the land” all who

attempted such a thing; and he was as good as his word. Men would

separate from the Church, and the King stretched out his pitiless hand

to crush them.

On the northern border of Nottinghamshire stands the little town of

Scrooby. Here there were some grave and well-reputed persons, to whom

the idle ceremonies of the Established Church were an offence. They

met in secret at the house of one of their number, a gentleman named

Brewster. They were ministered to in all scriptural simplicity by the

pastor of their choice--Mr. Robinson, a wise and good man. But their

secret meetings were betrayed to the authorities, and their lives were

made bitter by the persecutions that fell upon them. They resolved to

leave their own land and seek among strangers that freedom which was

denied them at home.

They embarked with all their goods for Holland. But when the ship was

about to sail, soldiers came upon them, plundered them, and drove them

on shore. They were marched to the public square of Boston, and there

the Fathers of New England endured such indignities as an unbelieving

rabble could inflict. After some weeks in prison they were suffered to

return home.

Next spring they tried again to escape. This time a good many were on

board, and the others were waiting for the return of the boat which

would carry them to the ship. Suddenly dragoons were seen spurring

across the sands. The shipmaster pulled up his anchor and pushed out to

sea with those of his passengers whom he had. The rest were conducted

to prison. After a time they were set at liberty, and in little groups

they made their way to Holland. Mr. Robinson and his congregation were

reunited, and the first stage of the weary pilgrimage from the Old

England to the New was at length accomplished.

Eleven quiet and not unprosperous years were spent in Holland. The

Pilgrims worked with patient industry at their various handicrafts.

[Sidenote: 1609 A.D.] They quickly gained the reputation of doing

honestly and effectively whatever they professed to do, and thus they

found abundant employment. Mr. Brewster established a printing-press,

and printed books about liberty, which, as he had the satisfaction of

knowing, greatly enraged the foolish King James. The little colony

received additions from time to time as oppression in England became

more intolerable.

The instinct of separation was strong within the Pilgrim heart. They

could not bear the thought that their little colony was to mingle with

the Dutchmen and lose its independent existence. But already their sons

and daughters were forming alliances which threatened this result. The

Fathers considered long and anxiously how the danger was to be averted.

They determined again to go on pilgrimage. They would seek a home

beyond the Atlantic, where they could dwell apart and found a State in

which they should be free to think.

[Sidenote: 1620 A.D.] On a sunny morning in July the Pilgrims kneel

upon the sea-shore at Delfthaven, while the pastor prays for the

success of their journey. Out upon the gleaming sea a little ship lies

waiting. Money has not been found to transplant the whole colony, and

only a hundred have been sent. The remainder will follow when they

can. These hundred depart amid tears and prayers and fond farewells.

Mr. Robinson dismissed them with counsels which breathed a pure and

high-toned wisdom. He urged them to keep their minds ever open for the

reception of new truths. “The Lord,” he said, “has more truth to break

forth out of his holy Word. I cannot sufficiently bewail the condition

of the Reformed Churches, who are come to a period in religion,

and will go at present no further than the instruments of their

reformation. Luther and Calvin were great and shining lights in their

times, yet they penetrated not into the whole counsel of God, but, were

they now living, would be as willing to embrace further light as that

which they first received. I beseech you, remember that you be ready to

receive whatever truth shall be made known to you from the written Word

of God.”

Sixty-eight years later, another famous departure from the coast of

Holland took place. It was that of William, Prince of Orange, coming to

deliver England from tyranny, and give a new course to English history.

A powerful fleet and army sailed with the prince. The chief men of the

country accompanied him to his ships. Public prayers for his safety

were offered up in all the churches. Insignificant beside this seems

at first sight the unregarded departure of a hundred working-men and

women. It was in truth, however, not less, but even more memorable. For

these poor people went forth to found a great empire, destined to leave

as deep and as enduring a mark upon the world’s history as Rome or even

as England has done.

The _Mayflower_, in which the Pilgrims made their voyage, was a ship

of one hundred and sixty tons. The weather proved stormy and cold; the

voyage unexpectedly long. It was early in September when they sailed;

it was not till the 11th November that the _Mayflower_ dropped her

anchor in the waters of Cape Cod Bay.

It was a bleak-looking and discouraging coast which lay before them.

Nothing met the eye but low sand-hills, covered with ill-grown wood

down to the margin of the sea. The Pilgrims had now to choose a place

for their settlement. About this they hesitated so long that the

captain threatened to put them all on shore and leave them. Little

expeditions were sent to explore. At first no suitable locality could

be found. The men had great hardships to endure. The cold was so

excessive that the spray froze upon their clothes, and they resembled

men cased in armour. At length a spot was fixed upon. The soil appeared

to be good, and abounded in “delicate springs” of water. On the 23rd

December the Pilgrims landed, stepping ashore upon a huge boulder of

granite, which is still reverently preserved by their descendants. Here

they resolved to found their settlement, which they agreed to call New

Plymouth.

The winter was severe, and the infant colony was brought very near

to extinction. They had been badly fed on board the _Mayflower_, and

for some time after going on shore there was very imperfect shelter

from the weather. Sickness fell heavily on the worn-out Pilgrims.

Every second day a grave had to be dug in the frozen ground. By the

time spring came in there were only fifty survivors, and these sadly

enfeebled and dispirited.

But all through this dismal winter the Pilgrims laboured at their heavy

task. The care of the sick, the burying of the dead, sadly hindered

their work; but the building of their little town went on. They found

that nineteen houses would contain their diminished numbers. These they

built. Then they surrounded them with a palisade. Upon an eminence

beside their town they erected a structure which served a double

purpose. Above, it was a fort, on which they mounted six cannon; below,

it was their church. Hitherto the Indians had been a cause of anxiety,

but had done them no harm. Now they felt safe. Indeed there had never

been much risk. A recent epidemic had swept off nine-tenths of the

Indians who inhabited that region, and the discouraged survivors could

ill afford to incur the hostility of their formidable visitors.

The Pilgrims had been careful to provide for themselves a government.

They had drawn up and signed, in the cabin of the _Mayflower_, a

document forming themselves into a body politic, and promising

obedience to all laws framed for the general good. Under this

constitution they appointed John Carver to be their governor. They

dutifully acknowledged King James, but they left no very large place

for his authority. They were essentially a self-governing people. They

knew what despotism was, and they were very sure that democracy could

by no possibility be so bad.

The welcome spring came at length, and “the birds sang in the woods

most pleasantly.” The health of the colony began somewhat to improve,

but there was still much suffering to endure. The summer passed not

unprosperously. They had taken possession of the deserted clearings of

the Indians, and had no difficulty in providing themselves with food.

But in the autumn came a ship with a new company of Pilgrims. This

was very encouraging; but unhappily the ship brought no provisions,

and the supplies of the colonists were not sufficient for this

unexpected addition. For six months there was only half allowance to

each. Such straits recurred frequently during the first two or three

years. Often the colonists knew not at night “where to have a bit in

the morning.” Once or twice the opportune arrival of a ship saved

them from famishing. They suffered much, but their cheerful trust in

Providence and in their own final triumph never wavered. They faced the

difficulties of their position with undaunted hearts. Slowly but surely

the little colony struck its roots and began to grow.

* * * * *

The years which followed the coming of the Pilgrims were years through

which good men in England found it bitter to live. Charles I. was upon

the throne; Laud was Archbishop of Canterbury. Bigotry as blind and

almost as cruel as England had ever seen thus sat in her high places.

Dissent from the Popish usages, which prevailed more and more in the

Church, was at the peril of life. A change was near. John Hampden was

farming his lands in Buckinghamshire. A greater than he--his cousin,

Oliver Cromwell--was leading his quiet rural life at Huntingdon, not

without many anxious and indignant thoughts about the evils of his

time. John Milton was peacefully writing his minor poems, and filling

his mind with the learning of the ancients. The Men had come, and the

Hour was at hand. But as yet King Charles and Archbishop Laud had it

all their own way. They fined and imprisoned every man who ventured

to think otherwise than they wished him to think: they slit his nose,

they cut off his ears, they gave him weary hours in the pillory. They

ordered that men should not leave the kingdom without the King’s

permission. Eight ships lay in the Thames, with their passengers on

board, when that order was given forth. The soldiers cleared the ships,

and the poor emigrants were driven back, in poverty and despair, to

endure the misery from which they were so eager to escape.

New England was the refuge to which the wearied victims of this

senseless tyranny looked. The Pilgrims wrote to their friends at home,

and every letter was regarded with the interest due to a “sacred

script.” They had hardships to tell of at first; then they had

prosperity and comfort; always they had liberty. New England seemed a

paradise to men who were denied permission to worship God according

to the manner which they deemed right. Every summer a few ships

were freighted for the settlements. Many of the silenced ministers

came. Many of their congregations came, glad to be free, at whatever

sacrifice, from the tyranny which disgraced their native land. The

region around New Plymouth became too narrow for the population. From

time to time a little party would go forth, with a minister at its

head. With wives and children and baggage they crept slowly through

the swampy forest. By a week or two of tedious journeying they reached

some point which pleased their fancy, or to which they judged that

Providence had sent them. There they built their little town, with its

wooden huts, its palisade, its fort, on which one or two guns were

ultimately mounted. Thus were founded many of the cities of New England.

For some years the difficulties which the colonists encountered were

almost overwhelming. There seemed at times even to be danger that

death by starvation would end the whole enterprise. But they were

a stout-hearted, patient, industrious people, and labour gradually

brought comfort. The virgin soil began to yield them abundant harvests.

They fished with such success that they manured their fields with

the harvest of the sea. They spun and they weaved. They felled the

timber of their boundless forests. They built ships, and sent away

to foreign countries the timber, the fish, the furs which were not

required at home. [Sidenote: 1643 A.D.] Ere many years a ship built

in Massachusetts sailed for London, followed by “many prayers of the

churches.” Their infant commerce was not without its troubles. They had

little or no coin, and Indian corn was made a legal tender. Bullets

were legalized in room of the farthings which, with their other coins,

had vanished to pay for foreign goods. But no difficulty could long

resist their steady, undismayed labour.

They were a noble people who had thus begun to strike their roots in

the great forests of New England. Their peculiarities may indeed amuse

us. The Old Testament was their statute-book, and they deemed that the

institutions of Moses were the best model for those of New England.

They made attendance on public worship compulsory. They christened

their children by Old Testament names. They regulated female attire by

law. They considered long hair unscriptural, and preached against veils

and wigs.

The least wise among us can smile at the mistakes into which the

Puritan Fathers of New England fell. But the most wise of all ages

will most profoundly reverence the purity, the earnestness, the

marvellous enlightenment of these men. From their incessant study of

the Bible they drew a love of human liberty unsurpassed in depth and

fervour. Coming from under despotic rule, they established at once

a government absolutely free. They felt--what Europe has not even

yet fully apprehended--that the citizens of a State should be able

to guide the affairs of that State without helpless dependence upon

a few great families; that the members of a Church ought to guide

the affairs of that Church, waiting for the sanction of no patron,

however noble and good. It was one of their fundamental laws that all

strangers professing the Christian religion and driven from their

homes by persecutors, should be succoured at the public charge. The

education of children was almost their earliest care. The Pilgrims bore

with them across the sea a deep persuasion that their infant State

could not thrive without education. Three years after the landing,

it was reported of them among the friends they had left in London,

that “their children were not catechised, nor taught to read.” The

colonists felt keenly this reproach. They utterly denied its justice.

They owned, indeed, that they had not yet attained to a school, much

as they desired it. But all parents did their best, each in the

education of his own children. In a very few years schools began to

appear. Such endowment as could be afforded was freely given. Some

tolerably qualified brother was fixed upon, and “entreated to become

schoolmaster.” And thus gradually the foundations were laid of the

noble school system of New England. Soon a law was passed that every

town containing fifty householders must have a common school; every

town of a hundred householders must have a grammar school. Harvard

College was established within fifteen years of the landing.

The founders of New England were men who had known at home the value

of letters. Brewster carried with him a library of two hundred and

seventy-five volumes, and his was not the largest collection in the

colony. The love of knowledge was deep and universal. New England has

never swerved from her early loyalty to the cause of education.

Every colonist was necessarily a soldier. The State provided him with

arms, if poor; required him to provide himself, if rich. His weapons

were sword, pike, and matchlock, with a forked stick on which to rest

his artillery in taking aim. The people were carefully trained to

the use of arms. In the devout spirit of the time, their drills were

frequently opened and closed with prayer.

Twenty-three years after the landing of the Pilgrims the population

of New England had grown to twenty-four thousand. Forty-nine little

wooden towns, with their wooden churches, wooden forts, and wooden

ramparts, were dotted here and there over the land. There were four

separate colonies, which hitherto had maintained separate governments.

They were Plymouth, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and New Haven. There

appeared at first a disposition in the Pilgrim mind to scatter widely,

and remain apart in small self-governing communities. For some years

every little band which pushed deeper into the wilderness settled

itself into an independent State, having no political relations

with its neighbours. But this isolation could not continue. The

wilderness had other inhabitants, whose presence was a standing menace.

Within “striking distance” there were Indians enough to trample out

the solitary little English communities. On their frontiers were

Frenchmen and Dutchmen--natural enemies, as all men in that time

were to each other. [Sidenote: 1643 A.D.] For mutual defence and

encouragement, the four colonies joined themselves into the United

Colonies of New England. This was the first confederation in a land

where confederations of unprecedented magnitude were hereafter to be

established.

CHAPTER V.

THE NEW ENGLAND PERSECUTIONS.

The Puritans left their native England and came to the “outside of the

world,” as they called it, that they might enjoy liberty to worship

God according to the way which they deemed right. They had discovered

that they themselves were entitled to toleration. They felt that the

restraints laid upon themselves were very unjust and very grievous. But

their light as yet led them no further. They had not discovered that

people who differed from them were as well entitled to be tolerated

as they themselves were. We have no right to blame them for their

backwardness. Simple as it seems, men have not all found out, even yet,

that every one of them is fully entitled to think for himself.

[Sidenote: 1631 A.D.] And thus it happened that, before the Pilgrims

had enjoyed for many years the cheerful liberty of their new home,

doctrines raised their heads among them which they felt themselves

bound to suppress. One February day there stepped ashore at Boston a

young man upon whose coming great issues depended. His name was Roger

Williams. He was a clergyman--“godly and zealous”--a man of rare virtue

and power. Cromwell admitted him, in later years, to a considerable

measure of intimacy. He was the friend of John Milton--in the bright

days of the poet’s youth, ere yet “the ever-during dark” surrounded

him. From him Milton acquired his knowledge of the Dutch language.

He carried with him to the New World certain strange opinions. Long

thought had satisfied him that in regard to religious belief and

worship man is responsible to God alone. No man, said Williams, is

entitled to lay compulsion upon another man in regard to religion.

The civil power has to do only with the “bodies and goods and outward

estates” of men; in the domain of conscience God is the only ruler.

New England was not able to receive these sentiments. Williams became

minister at Salem, where he was held in high account. In time his

opinions drew down upon him the unfavourable notice of the authorities.

The General Court of Massachusetts brought him to trial for the errors

of his belief. His townsmen and congregation deserted him. His wife

reproached him bitterly with the evil he was bringing upon his family.

Mr. Williams could do no otherwise. He must testify with his latest

breath, if need be, against the “soul oppression” which he saw around

him. The court heard him, discovered error in his opinions, declared

him guilty, and pronounced upon him sentence of banishment.

All honour to this good and brave, if somewhat eccentric man. He of all

the men of his time saw most clearly the beauty of absolute freedom in

matters of conscience. He went forth from Salem. He obtained a grant

of land from the Indians, and he founded the State of Rhode Island.

Landing one day from a boat in which he explored his new possessions,

he climbed a gentle slope, and rested with his companions beside a

spring. It seemed to him that the capital of his infant State ought

to be here. He laid the foundations of his city, which he named

Providence, in grateful recognition of the Power which had guided

his uncertain steps. His settlement was to be “a shelter for persons

distressed for conscience.” Most notably has it been so. Alone of all

the States of Christendom, Rhode Island has no taint of persecution

in her statute-book or in her history. Massachusetts continued to

drive out her heretics; Rhode Island took them in. They might err in

their interpretation of Scripture. Pity for themselves if they did

so. But while they obeyed the laws, they might interpret Scripture

according to the light they had. Many years after, Mr. Williams

became President of the colony which he had founded. The neighbouring

States were at that time sharply chastising the Quakers with lash and

branding-iron and gibbet. Rhode Island was invited to join in the

persecution. Mr. Williams replied that he had no law whereby to punish

any for their belief “as to salvation and an eternal condition.” He

abhorred the doctrines of the Quakers. In his seventy-third year he

rowed thirty miles in an open boat to wage a public debate with some

of the advocates of the system. Thus and thus only could he resist

the progress of opinions which he deemed pernicious. In beautiful

consistency and completeness stands out to the latest hour of his long

life this good man’s loyalty to the absolute liberty of the human

conscience.

[Sidenote: 1651 A.D.] And thus, too, it happened that when seven or

eight men began to deny that infants should be baptized, New England

never doubted that she did right in forcibly trampling out their

heresy. The heretics had started a meeting of their own, where they

might worship God apart from those who baptized their infants. One

Sabbath morning the constable invaded their worship and forcibly bore

them away to church. Their deportment there was not unsuitable to the

manner of their inbringing. They audaciously clapped on their hats

while the minister prayed, and made no secret that they deemed it sin

to join in the services of those who practised infant baptism. For this

“separation of themselves from God’s people” they were put on trial.

They were fined, and some of the more obdurate among them were ordered

to be “well whipped.” We have no reason to doubt that this order was

executed in spirit as well as in letter. And then a law went forth that

every man who openly condemned the baptizing of infants should suffer

banishment. Thus resolute were the good men of New England that the

right which they had come so far to enjoy should not be enjoyed by

any one who saw a different meaning from theirs in any portion of the

Divine Word.

[Sidenote: 1656 A.D.] Thus, too, when Massachusetts had reason to

apprehend the coming of certain followers of the Quaker persuasion,

she was smitten with a great fear. A fast-day was proclaimed, that

the alarmed people might “seek the face of God in reference to the

abounding of errors, especially those of the Ranters and Quakers.” As

they fasted, a ship was nearing their shores with certain Quaker women

on board. These unwelcome visitors were promptly seized and lodged in

prison; their books were burned by the hangman; they themselves were

sent away home by the ships which brought them. All ship-masters were

strictly forbidden to bring Quakers to the colony. A poor woman, the

wife of a London tailor, left her husband and her children, to bring,

as she said, a message from the Lord to New England. Her trouble was

but poorly bestowed; for they to whom her message came requited her

with twenty stripes and instant banishment. The banished Quakers

took the earliest opportunity of finding their way back. Laws were

passed dooming to death all who ventured to return. A poor fanatic

was following his plough in distant Yorkshire, when the word of the

Lord came to him saying, “Go to Boston.” He went, and the ungrateful

men of Boston hanged him. Four persons in all suffered death. Many

were whipped; some had their ears cut off. [Sidenote: 1661 A.D.] But

public opinion, which has always been singularly humane in America,

began to condemn these foolish cruelties. And the Quakers had friends

at home--friends who had access at Court. There came a letter in the

King’s name directing that the authorities of New England should

“forbear to proceed further against the Quakers.” That letter came by

the hands of a Quaker who was under sentence of death if he dared to

return. The authorities could not but receive it--could not but give

effect to it. The persecution ceased; and with it may be said to close,

in America, all forcible interference with the right of men to think

for themselves.

The Quakers, as they are known to us, are of all sects the least

offensive. A persecution of this serene, thoughtful, self-restrained

people, may well surprise us. But, in justice to New England, it must

be told that the first generation of Quakers differed extremely from

succeeding generations. They were a fanatical people--extravagant,

disorderly, rejecters of lawful authority. A people more intractable,

more unendurable by any government, never lived. They were guided by

an “inner light,” which habitually placed them at variance with the

laws of the country in which they lived, as well as with the most

harmless social usages. George Fox declared that “the Lord forbade

him to put off his hat to any man.” His followers were inconveniently

and provokingly aggressive. They invaded public worship. They openly

expressed their contempt for the religion of their neighbours. They

perpetually came with “messages from the Lord,” which it was not

pleasant to listen to. They appeared in public places very imperfectly

attired, thus symbolically to express and to rebuke the spiritual

nakedness of the time. After a little, when their zeal allied itself

with discretion, they became a most valuable element in American

society. But we can scarcely wonder that they created alarm at first.

The men of New England took a very simple view of the subject. They

had bought and paid for every acre of soil which they occupied. Their

country was a homestead from which they might exclude whom they

chose. They would not receive men whose object was to overthrow all

their institutions, civil and religious. It was a mistake, but a most

natural mistake. Long afterwards, when New England saw her error,

she nobly made what amends she could, by giving compensation to the

representatives of those Quakers who had suffered in the evil times.

CHAPTER VI.

WITCHCRAFT IN NEW ENGLAND.

When the Pilgrims left their native land, the belief in witchcraft was

universal. England, in much fear, busied herself with the slaughter

of friendless old women who were suspected of an alliance with Satan.

King James had published his book on Demonology a few years before, in

which he maintained that to forbear from putting witches to death was

an “odious treason against God.” England was no wiser than her King.

All during James’s life, and long after he had ceased from invading the

kingdom of Satan, the yearly average of executions for witchcraft was

somewhere about five hundred.

The Pilgrims carried with them across the Atlantic the universal

delusion, which their way of life was fitted to strengthen. They lived

on the verge of vast and gloomy forests. The howl of the wolf and the

scream of the panther sounded nightly around their cabins. Treacherous

savages lurked in the woods watching the time to plunder and to slay.

Every circumstance was fitted to increase the susceptibility of the

mind to gloomy and superstitious impressions. But for the first quarter

of a century, while every ship brought news of witch-killing at home,

no Satanic outbreak disturbed the settlers. The sense of brotherhood

was yet too strong among them. Men who have braved great dangers and

endured great hardships together, do not readily come to look upon

each other as the allies and agents of the Evil One.

In 1645 four persons were put to death for witchcraft. During the next

half century there occur at intervals solitary cases, when some unhappy

wretch falls a victim to the lurking superstition. It was in 1692 that

witch-slaying burst forth in its epidemic form, and with a fury which

has seldom been witnessed elsewhere.

In the State of Massachusetts there is a little town, then called

Salem, sitting pleasantly in a plain between two rivers; and in the

town of Salem there dwelt at that time a minister whose name was Paris.

In the month of February the daughter and niece of Mr. Paris became

ill. It was a dark time for Massachusetts; for the colony was at war

with the French and Indians, and was suffering cruelly from their

ravages. The doctors sat in solemn conclave on the afflicted girls, and

pronounced them bewitched. Mr. Paris, not doubting that it was even so,

bestirred himself to find the offenders. Suspicion fell upon three old

women, who were at once seized. And then, with marvellous rapidity, the

mania spread. The rage and fear of the distracted community swelled

high. Every one suspected his neighbour. Children accused their

parents; parents accused their children. The prisons could scarcely

contain the suspected. The town of Falmouth hanged its minister, a man

of intelligence and worth. Some near relations of the Governor were

denounced. Even the beasts were not safe. A dog was solemnly put to

death for the part he had taken in some satanic festivity.

For more than twelve months this mad panic raged in the New England

States. It is just to say that the hideous cruelties which were

practised in Europe were not resorted to in the prosecution of American

witches. Torture was not inflicted to wring confession from the victim.

The American test was more humane, and not more foolish, than the

European. Those suspected persons who denied their guilt, were judged

guilty and hanged; those who confessed were, for the most part, set

free. Many hundreds of innocent persons, who scorned to purchase life

by falsehood, perished miserably under the fury of an excited people.

The fire had been kindled in a moment; it was extinguished as suddenly.

The Governor of Massachusetts only gave effect to the reaction

which had occurred in the public mind, when he abruptly stopped all

prosecutions against witches, dismissed all the suspected, pardoned all

the condemned. The House of Assembly proclaimed a fast--entreating that

God would pardon the errors of his people “in a late tragedy raised by

Satan and his instruments.” One of the judges stood up in church in

Boston, with bowed down head and sorrowful countenance, while a paper

was read, in which he begged the prayers of the congregation, that

the innocent blood which he had erringly shed might not be visited on

the country or on him. The Salem jury asked forgiveness of God and

the community for what they had done under the power of “a strong and

general delusion.” Poor Mr. Paris was now at a sad discount. He made

public acknowledgment of his error. But at his door lay the origin of

all this slaughter of the unoffending. His part in the tragedy could

not be forgiven. The people would no longer endure his ministry, and

demanded his removal. Mr. Paris resigned his charge, and went forth

from Salem a broken man.

If the error of New England was great and most lamentable, her

repentance was prompt and deep. Five-and-twenty years after she had

clothed herself in sackcloth, old women were still burned to death for

witchcraft in Great Britain. The year of blood was never repeated in

America.

CHAPTER VII.

THE INDIANS.

The great continent on which the Pilgrims had landed was the home of

innumerable tribes of Indians. They had no settled abode. The entire

nation wandered hither and thither as their fancy or their chances of

successful hunting directed. When the wood was burned down in their

neighbourhood, or the game became scarce, they abandoned their villages

and moved off to a more inviting region. They had their great warriors,

their great battles, their brilliant victories, their crushing

defeats--all as uninteresting to mankind as the wars of the kites and

crows. They were a race of tall, powerful men--copper-coloured, with

hazel eye, high cheek-bone, and coarse black hair. In manner they

were grave, and not without a measure of dignity. They had courage,

but it was of that kind which is greater in suffering than in doing.

They were a cunning, treacherous, cruel race, among whom the slaughter

of women and children took rank as a great feat of arms. They had

almost no laws, and for religious beliefs a few of the most grovelling

superstitions. They worshipped the Devil because he was wicked, and

might do them an injury. Civilization could lay no hold upon them. They

quickly learned to use the white man’s musket; they never learned to

use the tools of the white man’s industry. They developed a love for

intoxicating drink passionate and irresistible beyond all example.

The settlers behaved to them as Christian men should. They took no

land from them; what land they required they bought and paid for.

Every acre of New England soil was come by with scrupulous honesty.

The friendship of the Indians was anxiously cultivated--sometimes from

fear, oftener from pity. But nothing could stay their progress towards

extinction. Inordinate drunkenness and the gradual limitation of their

hunting-grounds told fatally on their numbers. And occasionally the

English were forced to march against some tribe which refused to be at

peace, and to inflict a defeat which left few survivors.

[Sidenote: 1646 A.D.] Early in the history of New England, efforts

were made to win the Indians to the Christian faith. The Governor of

Massachusetts appointed ministers to carry the gospel to the savages.

Mr. John Eliot, the Apostle of the Indians, was a minister near Boston.

Moved by the pitiful condition of the natives, he acquired the language

of some of the tribes in his neighbourhood. He went and preached to

them in their own tongue. He printed books for them. The savages

received his words. Many of them listened to his sermons in tears.

Many professed faith in Christ, and were gathered into congregations.

He gave them a simple code of laws. It was even attempted to establish

a college for training native teachers; but this had to be abandoned.

The slothfulness of the Indian youth, and their devouring passion for

strong liquors, unfitted them for the ministry. These vices seemed

incurable in the Indian character. No persuasion could induce them to

labour. They could be taught to rest on the Sabbath; they could not

be taught to work on the other six days. And even the best of them

would sell all they had for spirits. These were grave hindrances; but,

in spite of them, Christianity made considerable progress among the

Indians. The hold which it then gained was never altogether lost. And

it was observed that in all the misunderstandings which arose between

the English and the natives, the converts steadfastly adhered to their

new friends.

CHAPTER VIII.

NEW YORK.

During the first forty years of its existence, the great city which

we call New York was a Dutch settlement, known among men as New

Amsterdam. [Sidenote: 1609 A.D.] That region had been discovered for

the Dutch East India Company by Henry Hudson, who was still in search,

as Columbus had been, of a shorter route to the East. The Dutch have

never displayed any aptitude for colonizing. But they were unsurpassed

in mercantile discernment, and they set up trading stations with much

judgment. Three or four years after the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth,

the Dutch West India Company determined to enter into trading relations

with the Indians along the line of the Hudson river. They sent out

a few families, who planted themselves at the southern extremity of

Manhattan Island. A wooden fort was built, around which clustered a

few wooden houses--just as in Europe the baron’s castle arose and the

huts of the baron’s dependants sheltered beside it. The Indians sold

valuable furs for scanty payment in blankets, beads, muskets, and

intoxicating drinks. The prudent Dutchmen grew rich, and were becoming

numerous. [Sidenote: 1643 A.D.] But a fierce and prolonged war with the

Indians broke out. The Dutch, having taken offence at something done by

the savages, expressed their wrath by the massacre of an entire tribe.

All the Indians of that region made common cause against the dangerous

strangers. All the Dutch villages were burned down. Long Island became

a desert. The Dutchmen were driven in to the southern tip of the island

on which New York stands. They ran a palisade across the island in the

line of what is now Wall Street. To-day, Wall Street is the scene of

the largest monetary transactions ever known among men. The hot fever

of speculation rages there incessantly, with a fury unknown elsewhere.

But then, it was the line within which a disheartened and diminishing

band of colonists strove to maintain themselves against a savage foe.

[Sidenote: 1645 A.D.] The war came to an end as wars even then required

to do. For twenty years the colony continued to nourish under the

government of a sagacious Dutchman called Petrus Stuyvesant. Petrus

had been a soldier, and had lost a leg in the wars. He was a brave and

true-hearted man, but withal despotic. When his subjects petitioned for

some part in the making of laws, he was astonished at their boldness.

He took it upon him to inspect the merchants’ books. He persecuted the

Lutherans and “the abominable sect of Quakers.”

It cannot be said that his government was faultless. The colony

prospered under it, however, and a continued immigration from Europe

increased its importance. But in the twentieth year, certain English

ships of war sailed up the bay, and, without a word of explanation,

anchored near the settlement. Governor Petrus was from home, but they

sent for him, and he came with speed. He hastened to the fort and

looked out into the bay. There lay the ships--grim, silent, ominously

near. Appalled by the presence of his unexpected visitors, the Governor

sent to ask wherefore they had come. His alarm was well founded; for

Charles II. of England had presented to his brother James of York a

vast stretch of territory, including the region which the Dutch had

chosen for their settlement. It was not his to give, but that signified

nothing either to Charles or to James. These ships had come to take

possession in the Duke of York’s name. A good many of the colonists

were English, and they were well pleased to be under their own

Government. They would not fight. The Dutch remembered the Governor’s

tyrannies, and they would not fight. Governor Petrus was prepared to

fight single-handed. He had the twenty guns of the fort loaded, and

was resolute to fire upon the ships. So at least he professed. But the

inhabitants begged him, in mercy to them, to forbear; and he suffered

himself to be led by two clergymen away from the loaded guns. It was

alleged, to his disparagement, afterwards, that he had “allowed himself

to be persuaded by ministers and other chicken-hearted persons.” Be

that as it may, King Charles’s errand was done. The little town of

fifteen hundred inhabitants, with all the neighbouring settlements,

passed quietly under English rule. And the future Empire City was named

New York, in honour of one of the meanest tyrants who ever disgraced

the English throne. With the settlements on the Hudson there fell also

into the hands of the English those of New Jersey, which the Dutch had

conquered from the Swedes.

CHAPTER IX.

PENNSYLVANIA.

It was not till the year 1682 that the uneventful but quietly

prosperous career of Pennsylvania began. The Stuarts were again upon

the throne of England. They had learned nothing from their exile; and

now, with the hour of their final rejection at hand, they were as

wickedly despotic as ever.

William Penn was the son of an admiral who had gained victories for

England, and enjoyed the favour of the royal family as well as of the

eminent statesmen of his time. The highest honours of the State would

in due time have come within the young man’s reach, and the brightest

hopes of his future were reasonably entertained by his friends. To the

dismay of all, Penn became a Quaker. It was an unspeakable humiliation

to the well-connected admiral. He turned his son out of doors, trusting

that hunger would subdue his intractable spirit. After a time, however,

he relented, and the youthful heretic was restored to favour. His

father’s influence could not shield him from persecution. Penn had

suffered fine, and had lain in the Tower for his opinions.

Ere long the admiral died, and Penn succeeded to his possessions. It

deeply grieved him that his brethren in the faith should endure such

wrongs as were continually inflicted upon them. He could do nothing at

home to mitigate the severities under which they groaned, therefore

he formed the great design of leading them forth to a new world.

King Charles owed to the admiral a sum of £16,000, and this doubtful

investment had descended from the father to the son. Penn offered to

take payment in land, and the King readily bestowed upon him a vast

region stretching westward from the river Delaware. Here Penn proposed

to found a State free and self-governing. It was his noble ambition

“to show men as free and as happy as they can be.” He proclaimed to

the people already settled in his new dominions that they should be

governed by laws of their own making. “Whatever sober and free men can

reasonably desire,” he told them, “for the security and improvement of

their own happiness, I shall heartily comply with.” He was as good as

his word. The people appointed representatives, by whom a Constitution

was framed. Penn confirmed the arrangements which the people chose to

adopt.

Penn dealt justly and kindly with the Indians, and they requited him

with a reverential love such as they evinced to no other Englishman.

The neighbouring colonies waged bloody wars with the Indians

who lived around them--now inflicting defeats which were almost

exterminating--now sustaining hideous massacres. Penn’s Indians were

his children and most loyal subjects. No drop of Quaker blood was ever

shed by Indian hand in the Pennsylvanian territory. Soon after Penn’s

arrival he invited the chief men of the Indian tribes to a conference.

The meeting took place beneath a huge elm-tree. The pathless forest has

long given way to the houses and streets of Philadelphia, but a marble

monument points out to strangers the scene of this memorable interview.

Penn, with a few companions, unarmed, and dressed according to the

simple fashion of their sect, met the crowd of formidable savages.

They met, he assured them, as brothers “on the broad pathway of good

faith and good will.” No advantage was to be taken on either side. All

was to be “openness and love;” and Penn meant what he said. Strong in

the power of truth and kindness, he bent the fierce savages of the

Delaware to his will. They vowed “to live in love with William Penn and

his children as long as the moon and the sun shall endure.” They kept

their vow. Long years after, they were known to recount to strangers,

with deep emotion, the words which Penn had spoken to them under the

old elm-tree of Shakamaxon.

The fame of Penn’s settlement went abroad in all lands. Men wearied

with the vulgar tyranny of Kings heard gladly that the reign of freedom

and tranquillity was established on the banks of the Delaware. An

asylum was opened “for the good and oppressed of every nation.” Of

these there was no lack. Pennsylvania had nothing to attract such

“dissolute persons” as had laid the foundations of Virginia. But grave

and God-fearing men from all the Protestant countries sought a home

where they might live as conscience taught them. The new colony grew

apace. Its natural advantages were tempting. Penn reported it as “a

good land, with plentiful springs, the air clear and fresh, and an

innumerable quantity of wild-fowl and fish; what Abraham, Isaac, and

Jacob would be well-contented with.” During the first year, twenty-two

vessels arrived, bringing two thousand persons. In three years,

Philadelphia was a town of six hundred houses. It was half a century

from its foundation before New York attained equal dimensions.

When Penn, after a few years, revisited England, he was able truly to

relate that “things went on sweetly with Friends in Pennsylvania; that

they increased finely in outward things and in wisdom.”

CHAPTER X.

GEORGIA.

The thirteen States which composed the original Union were, Virginia,

Massachusetts, Connecticut, Rhode Island, New Hampshire, Delaware,

Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, New Jersey, North Carolina, South

Carolina, and Georgia.

[Sidenote: 1732 A.D.] Of these the latest born was Georgia. Only fifty

years had passed since Penn established the Quaker State on the banks

of the Delaware. But changes greater than centuries have sometimes

wrought had taken place. The Revolution had vindicated the liberties

of the British people. The tyrant house of Stuart had been cast out,

and with its fall the era of despotic government had closed. The real

governing power was no longer the King, but the Parliament.

Among the members of Parliament during the rule of Sir Robert Walpole

was one almost unknown to us now, but deserving of honour beyond most

men of his time. His name was James Oglethorpe. He was a soldier, and

had fought against the Turks and in the great Marlborough wars against

Louis XIV. In advanced life he became the friend of Samuel Johnson.

Dr. Johnson urged him to write some account of his adventures. “I know

no one,” he said, “whose life would be more interesting: if I were

furnished with materials I should be very glad to write it.” Edmund

Burke considered him “a more extraordinary person than any he had ever

read of.” John Wesley “blessed God that ever he was born.” Oglethorpe

attained the great age of ninety-six, and died in the year 1785. The

year before his death he attended the sale of Dr. Johnson’s books, and

was there met by Samuel Rogers the poet. “Even then,” says Rogers, “he

was the finest figure of a man you ever saw; but very, very old--the

flesh of his face like parchment.”

In Oglethorpe’s time it was in the power of a creditor to imprison,

according to his pleasure, the man who owed him money and was not able

to pay it. It was a common circumstance that a man should be imprisoned

during a long series of years for a trifling debt. Oglethorpe had a

friend upon whom this hard fate had fallen. His attention was thus

painfully called to the cruelties which were inflicted upon the

unfortunate and helpless. He appealed to Parliament, and after inquiry

a partial remedy was obtained. The benevolent exertions of Oglethorpe

procured liberty for multitudes who but for him might have ended their

lives in captivity.

This, however, did not content him. Liberty was an incomplete gift to

men who had lost, or perhaps had scarcely ever possessed, the faculty

of earning their own maintenance. Oglethorpe devised how he might carry

these unfortunates to a new world, where, under happier auspices, they

might open a fresh career. [Sidenote: 1732 A.D.] He obtained from King

George II. a charter by which the country between the Savannah and the

Alatamaha, and stretching westward to the Pacific, was erected into

the province of Georgia. It was to be a refuge for the deserving poor,

and next to them for Protestants suffering persecution. Parliament

voted £10,000 in aid of the humane enterprise, and many benevolent

persons were liberal with their gifts. In November the first exodus

of the insolvent took place. Oglethorpe sailed with one hundred and

twenty emigrants, mainly selected from the prisons--penniless, but

of good repute. He surveyed the coasts of Georgia, and chose a site

for the capital of his new State. He pitched his tent where Savannah

now stands, and at once proceeded to mark out the line of streets and

squares.

Next year the colony was joined by about a hundred German Protestants,

who were then under persecution for their beliefs. The colonists

received this addition to their numbers with joy. A place of residence

had been chosen for them which the devout and thankful strangers

named Ebenezer. They were charmed with their new abode. The river and

the hills, they said, reminded them of home. They applied themselves

with steady industry to the cultivation of indigo and silk; and they

prospered.

The fame of Oglethorpe’s enterprise spread over Europe. All struggling

men against whom the battle of life went hard looked to Georgia as

a land of promise. They were the men who most urgently required to

emigrate; but they were not always the men best fitted to conquer the

difficulties of the immigrant’s life. The progress of the colony was

slow. The poor persons of whom it was originally composed were honest

but ineffective, and could not in Georgia more than in England find out

the way to become self-supporting. Encouragements were given which drew

from Germany, from Switzerland, and from the Highlands of Scotland, men

of firmer texture of mind--better fitted to subdue the wilderness and

bring forth its treasures.

[Sidenote: 1736 A.D.] With Oglethorpe there went out, on his second

expedition to Georgia, the two brothers John and Charles Wesley.

Charles went as secretary to the Governor. John was even then, although

a very young man, a preacher of unusual promise. He burned to spread

the gospel among the settlers and their Indian neighbours. He spent two

years in Georgia, and these were unsuccessful years. His character was

unformed; his zeal out of proportion to his discretion. The people felt

that he preached “personal satires” at them. He involved himself in

quarrels, and at last had to leave the colony secretly, fearing arrest

at the instance of some whom he had offended. He returned to begin his

great career in England, with the feeling that his residence in Georgia

had been of much value to himself, but of very little to the people

whom he sought to benefit.

Just as Wesley reached England, his fellow-labourer George Whitefield

sailed for Georgia. There were now little settlements spreading

inland, and Whitefield visited these, bearing to them the word of

life. He founded an Orphan-House at Savannah, and supported it by

contributions--obtained easily from men under the power of his

unequalled eloquence. He visited Georgia very frequently, and his love

for that colony remained with him to the last.

Slavery was, at the outset, forbidden in Georgia. It was opposed to the

gospel, Oglethorpe said, and therefore not to be allowed. He foresaw,

besides, what has been so bitterly experienced since, that slavery must

degrade the poor white labourer. But soon a desire sprung up among

the less scrupulous of the settlers to have the use of slaves. Within

seven years from the first landing, slave-ships were discharging their

cargoes at Savannah.

CHAPTER XI.

SLAVERY.

In the month of December 1620, the Pilgrim Fathers landed from the

_Mayflower_. Their landing takes rank among our great historical

transactions. The rock which first received their footsteps is a

sacred spot, to which the citizens of great and powerful States make

reverential pilgrimages. And right it should be so; for the vast

influence for good which New England exerts, and must ever exert, in

the world’s affairs, has risen upon the foundation laid by these sickly

and storm-wearied Pilgrims.

A few months previously another landing had taken place, destined in

the fulness of time to bear the strangest of fruits. In the month of

August a Dutch ship of war sailed up the James river and put twenty

negroes ashore upon the Virginian coast. It was a wholly unnoticed

proceeding. No name or lineage had these sable strangers. No one cared

to know from what tribe they sprang, or how it fared with them in their

sorrowful journeying. Yet these men were Pilgrim Fathers too. They were

the first negro slaves in a land whose history, during the next century

and a half, was to receive a dark, and finally a bloody, colouring from

the fact of Negro Slavery.

* * * * *

The negro slave trade was an early result of the discovery of

America. To utilize the vast possessions which Columbus had bestowed

upon her, Spain deemed that compulsory labour was indispensable.

The natives of the country naturally fell the first victims to this

necessity. Terrible desolations were wrought among the poor Indians.

Proud and melancholy, they could not be reconciled to their bondage.

They perished by thousands under the merciless hand of their new

task-masters.

[Sidenote: 1542 A.D.] Charles V. heard with remorse of this ruin of the

native races. Indian slavery was at once and peremptorily forbidden.

But labourers must be obtained, or those splendid possessions would

relapse into wilderness. Spanish merchants traded to the coasts of

Africa, where they bought gold dust and ivory for beads and ribands

and scarlet cloaks. They found there a harmless idle people, whose

simple wants were supplied without effort on their part; and who, in

the absence of inducement, neither laboured nor fought. The Spaniards

bethought them of these men to cultivate their fields, to labour in

their mines. They were gentle and tractable; they were heathens, and

therefore the proper inheritance of good Catholics; by baptism and

instruction in the faith their souls would be saved from destruction.

Motives of the most diverse kinds urged the introduction of the negro.

At first the traffic extended no further than to criminals. Thieves and

murderers, who must otherwise have been put to death, enriched their

chiefs by the purchase-money which the Spaniards were eager to pay. But

on all that coast no rigour of law could produce offenders in numbers

sufficient to meet the demand. Soon the limitation ceased. Unoffending

persons were systematically kidnapped and sold. The tribes went to

war in the hope of taking prisoners whom they might dispose of to the

Spaniards.

England was not engaged in that traffic at its outset. Ere long her

hands were as deeply tainted with its guilt as those of any other

country. But for a time her intercourse with Africa was for blameless

purposes of commerce. And while that continued the English were

regarded with confidence by the Africans. [Sidenote: 1557 A.D.] At

length one John Lok, a shipmaster, stole five black men and brought

them to London. The next Englishman who visited Africa found that that

theft had damaged the good name of his countrymen. His voyage was

unprofitable, for the natives feared him. When this was told in London

the mercantile world was troubled, for the African trade was a gainful

one. The five stolen men were conveyed safely home again.

This was the opening of our African slave-trade. Then, for the first

time, did our fathers feel the dark temptation, and thus hesitatingly

did they at first yield to its power. The traffic in gold dust and

ivory continued. Every Englishman who visited the African coast had

occasion to know how actively and how profitably Spain, and Portugal

too, traded in slaves. He knew that on all that rich coast there was no

merchandise so lucrative as the unfortunate people themselves. It was

not an age when such seductions could be long withstood. The English

traders of that day were not the men to be held back from a gainful

traffic by mere considerations of humanity.

[Sidenote: 1562 A.D.] Sir John Hawkins made the first English venture

in slave-trading. He sailed with three vessels to Sierra Leone. There,

by purchase or by violence, he possessed himself of three hundred

negroes. With this freight he crossed the Atlantic, and at St. Domingo

he sold the whole to a great profit. The fame of his gains caused

sensation in England, and he was encouraged to undertake a second

expedition. Queen Elizabeth and many of her courtiers took shares in

the venture. After many difficulties, Hawkins collected five hundred

negroes. His voyage was a troublous one. He was beset with calms; water

ran short, and it was feared that a portion of the cargo must have been

flung overboard. “Almighty God, however,” says this devout man-stealer,

“who never suffers his elect to perish,” brought him to the West Indies

without loss of a man. But there had arrived before him a rigorous

interdict from the King of Spain against the admission of foreign

vessels to any of his West Indian ports. Hawkins was too stout-hearted

to suffer such frustration of his enterprise. After some useless

negotiation, he landed a hundred men with two pieces of cannon; landed

and sold his negroes; paid the tax which he himself had fixed; and soon

in quiet England divided his gains with his royal and noble patrons.

Thus was the slave-trade established in England. Three centuries after,

we look with horror and remorse upon the results which have followed.

In most of the colonies there was unquestionably a desire for

the introduction of the negro. But ere many years the colonists

became aware that they were rapidly involving themselves in grave

difficulties. The increase of the coloured population alarmed them.

Heavy debts, incurred for the purchase of slaves, disordered their

finances. The production of tobacco, indigo, and other articles of

Southern growth, exceeded the demand, and prices fell ruinously low.

There were occasionally proposals made--although not very favourably

entertained--with a view to emancipation. But the opposition of the

colonists to the African slave-trade was very decided. Very frequent

attempts to limit the traffic were made even in the Southern colonies,

where slave labour was most valuable. [Sidenote: 1787 A.D.] Soon after

the Revolution, several Slave-owning States prohibited the importation

of slaves. The Constitution provided that Congress might suppress the

slave-trade after the lapse of twenty years. But for the resistance of

South Carolina and Georgia the prohibition would have been immediate.

[Sidenote: 1807 A.D.] And at length, at the earliest moment when it was

possible, Congress gave effect to the general sentiment by enacting

“that no slaves be imported into any of the thirteen United Colonies.”

And why had this not been done earlier? If the colonists were sincere

in their desire to suppress this base traffic, why did they not

suppress it? The reason is not difficult to find. England would

not permit them. England forced the slave-trade upon the reluctant

colonists. The English Parliament watched with paternal care over

the interests of this hideous traffic. During the first half of the

eighteenth century Parliament was continually legislating to this

effect. Every restraint upon the largest development of the trade was

removed with scrupulous care. Everything that diplomacy could do to

open new markets was done. When the colonists sought by imposing a

tax to check the importation of slaves, that tax was repealed. Land

was given free, in the West Indies, on condition that the settler

should keep four negroes for every hundred acres. Forts were built

on the African coast for the protection of the trade. So recently as

the year 1749 an Act was passed bestowing additional encouragements

upon slave-traders, and emphatically asserting “the slave-trade is

very advantageous to Great Britain.” There are no passages in all our

history so humiliating as these.

It is marvellous that such things were done--deliberately, and with all

the solemnities of legal sanction--by men not unacquainted with the

Christian religion, and humane in all the ordinary relations of life.

The Popish Inquisition inflicted no suffering more barbarously cruel

than was endured by the victim of the slave-trader. Hundreds of men

and women, with chains upon their limbs, were packed closely together

into the holds of small vessels. There, during weeks of suffering, they

remained, enduring fierce tropical heat, often deprived of water and of

food. They were all young and strong, for the fastidious slave-trader

rejected men over thirty as uselessly old. But the strength of the

strongest sunk under the horrors of this voyage. Often it happened that

the greater portion of the cargo had to be flung overboard. Under the

most favourable circumstances, it was expected that one slave in every

five would perish. In every cargo of five hundred, one hundred would

suffer a miserable death. And the public sentiment of England fully

sanctioned a traffic of which these horrors were a necessary part.

At one time the idea was prevalent in the colonies that it was contrary

to Scripture to hold a baptized person in slavery. The colonists did

not on that account liberate their slaves. They escaped the difficulty

in the opposite direction. They withheld baptism and religious

instruction. England took some pains to put them right on this

question. The bishops of the Church and the law-officers of the Crown

issued authoritative declarations, asserting the entire lawfulness of

owning Christians. The colonial legislatures followed with enactments

to the same effect. The colonists, thus reassured, gave consent that

the souls of their unhappy dependants should be cared for.

Up to the Revolution it was estimated that three hundred thousand

negroes had been brought into the country direct from Africa. The

entire coloured population was supposed to amount to nearly half a

million.

CHAPTER XII.

EARLY GOVERNMENT.

There was at the outset considerable diversity of pattern among the

governments of the colonies. As time wore on, the diversity lessened,

and one great type becomes visible in all. There is a Governor

appointed by the King. There is a Parliament chosen by the people.

Parliament holds the purse-strings. The Governor applies for what

moneys the public service seems to him to require. Parliament, as a

rule, grants his demands; but not without consideration, and a distinct

assertion of its right to refuse should cause appear. As the Revolution

drew near, the function of the Governor became gradually circumscribed

by the pressure of the Assemblies. When the Governor, as representing

the King, fell into variance with the popular will, the representatives

of the people assumed the whole business of government. The most loyal

of the colonies resolutely defied the encroachments of the King or his

Governor. They had a pleasure and a pride in their connection with

England; but they were at the same time essentially a self-governing

people. From the government which existed before the Revolution it was

easy for them to step into a federal union. The colonists had all their

interests and all their grievances in common. It was natural for them,

when trouble arose, to appoint representatives who should deliberate

regarding their affairs. These representatives required an executive

to give practical effect to their resolutions. The officer who was

appointed for that purpose was called, not King, but President; and was

chosen, not for life, but for four years. By this simple and natural

process arose the American Government.

At first Virginia was governed by two Councils, one of which was

English and the other Colonial. Both were entirely under the King’s

control. In a very few years the representative system was introduced,

and a popular assembly, over whose proceedings the Governor retained

the right of veto, regulated the affairs of the colony. Virginia was

the least democratic of the colonies. Her leanings were always towards

monarchy. She maintained her loyalty to the Stuarts. Charles II.

ruled her in his exile, and was crowned in a robe of Virginian silk,

presented by the devoted colonists. The baffled Cavaliers sought refuge

in Virginia from the hateful triumph of Republicanism. Virginia refused

to acknowledge the Commonwealth, and had to be subjected by force. When

the exiled House was restored, her joy knew no bounds.

The New England States were of different temper and different

government. While yet on board the _Mayflower_, the Pilgrims, as

we have seen, formed themselves into a body politic, elected their

Governor, and bound themselves to submit to his authority, “confiding

in his prudence that he would not adventure upon any matter of moment

without consent of the rest.” Every church member was an elector. For

sixty years this democratic form of government was continued, till the

despotic James II. overturned it in the closing years of his unhappy

reign. The Pilgrims carried with them from England a bitter feeling

of the wrongs which Kings had inflicted on them, and they arrived in

America a people fully disposed to govern themselves. They cordially

supported Cromwell. Cromwell, on his part, so highly esteemed the

people of New England, that he invited them to return to Europe, and

offered them settlements in Ireland. They delayed for two years to

proclaim Charles II. when he was restored to the English throne. They

sheltered the regicides who fled from the King’s vengeance. They hailed

the Revolution, by which the Stuarts were expelled and constitutional

monarchy set up in England. Of all the American colonies, those of New

England were the most democratic, and the most intolerant of royal

interference with their liberties.

New York was bestowed upon the Duke of York, who for a time appointed

the Governor. Pennsylvania was a grant to Penn, who exercised the

same authority. Ultimately, however, in all cases, the appointment of

Governor rested with the King, while the representatives were chosen by

the people.

Book Second.

CHAPTER I.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

In the year 1740 there fell out a great European war. There was some

doubt who should fill the Austrian throne. The emperor had just died,

leaving no son or brother to inherit his dignities. His daughter, Maria

Theresa, stepped into her father’s place, and soon made it apparent

that she was strong enough to maintain what she had done. Two or three

Kings thought they had a better right than she to the throne. The other

Kings ranged themselves on this side or on that. The idea of looking

on while foolish neighbours destroyed themselves by senseless war, had

not yet been suggested. Every King took part in a great war, and sent

his people forth to slay and be slain, quite as a matter of course. So

they raised great armies, fought great battles, burned cities, wasted

countries, inflicted and endured unutterable miseries, all to settle

the question about this lady’s throne. But the lady was of a heroic

spirit, well worthy to govern, and she held her own, and lived and died

an empress.

During these busy years, a Virginian mother, widowed in early life,

was training up her eldest son in the fear of God--all unaware, as

she infused the love of goodness and duty into his mind, that she was

giving a colour to the history of her country throughout all its

coming ages. That boy’s name was George Washington. He was born in

1732. His father--a gentleman of good fortune, with a pedigree which

can be traced beyond the Norman Conquest--died when his son was eleven

years of age. Upon George’s mother devolved the care of his upbringing.

She was a devout woman, of excellent sense and deep affections; but

a strict disciplinarian, and of a temper which could brook no shadow

of insubordination. Under her rule--gentle, and yet strong--George

learned obedience and self-control. In boyhood he gave remarkable

promise of those excellences which distinguished his mature years. His

schoolmates recognized the calm judicial character of his mind, and

he became in all their disputes the arbiter from whose decision there

was no appeal. He inherited his mother’s love of command, happily

tempered by a lofty disinterestedness and a love of justice, which

seemed to render it impossible that he should do or permit aught that

was unfair. His person was large and powerful. His face expressed the

thoughtfulness and serene strength of his character. He excelled in all

athletic exercises. His youthful delight in such pursuits developed his

physical capabilities to the utmost, and gave him endurance to bear the

hardships which lay before him.

Young gentlemen of Virginia were not educated then so liberally as

they have been since. It was presumed that Washington would be a mere

Virginian proprietor and farmer, as his father had been; and his

education was no higher than that position then demanded. He never

learned any language but his own. The teacher of his early years

was also the sexton of the parish. And even when he was taken to an

institution of a more advanced description, he attempted no higher

study than the keeping of accounts and the copying of legal and

mercantile papers. A few years later, it was thought he might enter the

civil or military service of his country; and he was put to the study

of mathematics and land-surveying.

George Washington did nothing by halves. In youth, as in manhood, he

did thoroughly what he had to do. His school exercise books are models

of neatness and accuracy. His plans and measurements made while he

studied land-surveying were as scrupulously exact as if great pecuniary

interests depended upon them. In his eighteenth year he was employed

by Government as surveyor of public lands. Many of his surveys were

recorded in the county offices, and remain to this day. Long experience

has established their unvarying accuracy. In all disputes to which they

have any relevancy, their evidence is accepted as decisive. During the

years which preceded the Revolution he managed his estates, packed and

shipped his own tobacco and flour, kept his own books, conducted his

own correspondence. His books may still be seen. Perhaps no clearer or

more accurate record of business transactions has been kept in America

since the Father of American Independence rested from book-keeping.

The flour which he shipped to foreign ports came to be known as his,

and the Washington brand was habitually exempted from inspection. A

most reliable man; his words and his deeds, his professions and his

practice, are ever found in most perfect harmony. By some he has

been regarded as a stolid, prosaic person, wanting in those features

of character which captivate the minds of men. It was not so. In an

earlier age George Washington would have been a true knight-errant with

an insatiable thirst for adventure and a passionate love of battle.

He had in high degree those qualities which make ancient knighthood

picturesque. But higher qualities than these bore rule within him. He

had wisdom beyond most, giving him deep insight into the wants of his

time. He had clear perceptions of the duty which lay to his hand. What

he saw to be right, the strongest impulses of his soul constrained him

to do. A massive intellect and an iron strength of will were given to

him, with a gentle, loving heart, with dauntless courage, with purity

and loftiness of aim. He had a work of extraordinary difficulty to

perform. History rejoices to recognize in him a revolutionary leader

against whom no questionable transaction has ever been alleged.

The history of America presents, in one important feature, a very

striking contrast to the history of nearly all older countries. In

the old countries, history gathers round some one grand central

figure--some judge, or priest, or king--whose biography tells all

that has to be told concerning the time in which he lived. That one

predominating person--David, Alexander, Cæsar, Napoleon--is among his

people what the sun is in the planetary system. All movement originates

and terminates in him, and the history of the people is merely a record

of what he has chosen to do or caused to be done. In America it has not

been so. The American system leaves no room for predominating persons.

It affords none of those exhibitions of solitary, all-absorbing

grandeur which are so picturesque, and have been so pernicious. Her

history is a history of her people, and of no conspicuous individuals.

Once only in her career is it otherwise. During the lifetime of George

Washington her history clings very closely to him; and the biography

of her great chief becomes in a very unusual degree the history of the

country.

CHAPTER II.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

While Washington’s boyhood was being passed on the banks of the

Potomac, a young man, destined to help him in gaining the independence

of the country, was toiling hard in the city of Philadelphia to earn an

honest livelihood. His name was Benjamin Franklin; his avocations were

manifold. He kept a small stationer’s shop; he edited a newspaper; he

was a bookbinder; he made ink; he sold rags, soap, and coffee. He was

also a printer, employing a journeyman and an apprentice to aid him in

his labours. He was a thriving man; but he was not ashamed to convey

along the streets, in a wheelbarrow, the paper which he bought for the

purposes of his trade. As a boy he had been studious and thoughtful;

as a man he was prudent, sagacious, trustworthy. His prudence was,

however, somewhat low-toned and earthly. He loved and sought to marry a

deserving young woman, who returned his affection. There was in those

days a debt of one hundred pounds upon his printing-house. He demanded

that the father of the young lady should pay off this debt. The father

was unable to do so. Whereupon the worldly Benjamin decisively broke

off the contemplated alliance.

When he had earned a moderate competency he ceased to labour at his

business. Henceforth he laboured to serve his fellow-men. Philadelphia

owes to Franklin her university, her hospital, her fire-brigade, her

first and greatest library.

He earned renown as a man of science. It had long been his thought that

lightning and electricity were the same; but he found no way to prove

the truth of his theory. [Sidenote: 1752 A.D.] At length he made a

kite fitted suitably for his experiment. He stole away from his house

during a thunder-storm, having told no one but his son, who accompanied

him. The kite was sent up among the stormy clouds, and the anxious

philosopher waited. For a time no response to his eager questioning was

granted, and Franklin’s countenance fell. But at length he felt the

welcome shock, and his heart thrilled with the high consciousness that

he had added to the sum of human knowledge.

[Sidenote: 1766 A.D.] When the troubles arose in connection with the

Stamp Act, Franklin was sent to England to defend the rights of the

colonists. The vigour of his intellect, the matured wisdom of his

opinions, gained for him a wonderful supremacy over the men with whom

he was brought into contact. He was examined before Parliament. Edmund

Burke said that the scene reminded him of a master examined by a

parcel of schoolboys, so conspicuously was the witness superior to his

interrogators.

[Sidenote: 1777 A.D.] Franklin was an early advocate of independence,

and aided in preparing the famous Declaration. In all the councils of

that eventful time he bore a leading part. He was the first American

Ambassador to France; and the good sense and vivacity of the old

printer gained for him high favour in the fashionable world of Paris.

He lived to aid in framing the Constitution under which America has

enjoyed prosperity so great. [Sidenote: 1799 A.D.] Soon after he passed

away. A few months before his death he wrote to Washington:--“I am now

finishing my eighty-fourth year, and probably with it my career in this

life; but in whatever state of existence I am placed hereafter, if I

retain any memory of what has passed here, I shall with it retain the

esteem, respect, and affection with which I have long regarded you.”

CHAPTER III.

THE VALLEY OF THE OHIO.

The peace of Aix-la-Chapelle, which gave a brief repose to Europe, left

unsettled the contending claims of France and England upon American

territory. [Sidenote: 1748 A.D.] France had possessions in Canada

and also in Louisiana, at the extreme south, many hundreds of miles

away. She claimed the entire line of the Mississippi river, with its

tributaries; and she had given effect to her pretensions by erecting

forts at intervals to connect her settlements in the north with those

in the south. Her claim included the Valley of the Ohio. This was a

vast and fertile region, whose value had just been discovered by the

English. It was yet unpeopled; but its vegetation gave evidence of

wealth unknown to the colonists in the eastern settlements. The French,

to establish their claim, sent three hundred soldiers into the valley,

and nailed upon the trees leaden plates which bore the royal arms of

France. They strove by gifts and persuasion to gain over the natives,

and expelled the English traders who had made their adventurous way

into those recesses. The English, on their part, were not idle. A

great trading company was formed, which, in return for certain grants

of land, became bound to colonize the valley, to establish trading

relations with the Indians, and to maintain a competent military force.

This was in the year 1749. In that age there was but one solution of

such difficulties. Governments had not learned to reason; they could

only fight. Early in 1751 both parties were actively preparing for war.

That war went ill with France. When the sword was sheathed in 1759, she

had lost not only Ohio, but the whole of Canada.

[Sidenote: 1754 A.D.] When the fighting began it was conducted on

the English side wholly by the colonists. Virginia raised a little

army. Washington, then a lad of twenty-one, was offered the command,

so great was the confidence already felt in his capacity. It was war

in miniature as yet. The object of Washington in the campaign was to

reach a certain fort on the Ohio, and hold it as a barrier against

French encroachment. He had his artillery to carry with him, and to

render that possible he had to make a road through the wilderness. He

struggled heroically with the difficulties of his position, but he

could not advance at any better speed than two miles a-day; and he was

not destined to reach the fort on the Ohio. After toiling on as he best

might for six weeks, he learned that the French were seeking him with

a force far outnumbering his. He halted, and hastily constructed a

rude intrenchment, which he called Fort Necessity, because his men had

nearly starved while they worked at it. He had three hundred Virginians

with him, and some Indians. The Indians deserted so soon as occasion

arose for their services. The French attack was not long withheld.

Early one summer morning a sentinel came in bleeding from a French

bullet. All that day the fight lasted. At night the French summoned

Washington to surrender. The garrison were to march out with flag and

drum, leaving only their artillery. Washington could do no better, and

he surrendered. Thus ended the first campaign in the war which was to

drive France from Ohio and Canada. Thus opened the military career

of the man who was to drive England from the noblest of her colonial

possessions.

But now the English Government awoke to the necessity of vigorous

measures to rescue the endangered Valley of the Ohio. A campaign

was planned which was to expel the French from Ohio, and wrest from

them some portions of their Canadian territory. The execution of this

great design was intrusted to General Braddock, with a force which

it was deemed would overbear all resistance. Braddock was a veteran

who had seen the wars of forty years. Among the fields on which he

had gained his knowledge of war was Culloden, where he had borne a

part in trampling out the rebellion of the Scotch. He was a brave and

experienced soldier, and a likely man, it was thought, to do the work

assigned to him. But that proved a sad miscalculation. Braddock had

learned the rules of war; but he had no capacity to comprehend its

principles. In the pathless forests of America he could do nothing

better than strive to give literal effect to those maxims which he had

found applicable in the well-trodden battle-grounds of Europe.

The failure of Washington in his first campaign had not deprived him

of public confidence. Braddock heard such accounts of his efficiency

that he invited him to join his staff. Washington, eager to efface the

memory of his defeat, gladly accepted the offer.

[Sidenote: 1755 A.D.] The troops disembarked at Alexandria. The

colonists, little used to the presence of regular soldiers, were

greatly emboldened by their splendid aspect and faultless discipline,

and felt that the hour of final triumph was at hand. After some delay,

the army, with such reinforcements as the province afforded, began

its march. Braddock’s object was to reach Fort Du Quesne, the great

centre of French influence on the Ohio. It was this same fort of which

Washington endeavoured so manfully to possess himself in his disastrous

campaign of last year.

Fort Du Quesne had been built by the English, and taken from them

by the French. It stood at the confluence of the Alleghany and

Monongahela; which rivers, by their union at this point, form the Ohio.

It was a rude piece of fortification, but the circumstances admitted

of no better. The fort was built of the trunks of trees; wooden huts

for the soldiers surrounded it. A little space had been cleared in the

forest, and a few patches of wheat and Indian corn grew luxuriantly in

that rich soil. The unbroken forest stretched all around. Three years

later the little fort was retaken by the English, and named Fort Pitt.

Then in time it grew to be a town, and was called Pittsburg. And men

found in its neighbourhood boundless wealth of iron and of coal. To-day

a great and fast-growing city stands where, a century ago, the rugged

fort with its cluster of rugged huts were the sole occupants. And the

rivers, then so lonely, are ploughed by many keels; and the air is dark

with the smoke of innumerable furnaces. The judgment of the sagacious

Englishmen who deemed this a locality which they would do well to get

hold of, has been amply borne out by the experience of posterity.

Braddock had no doubt that the fort would yield to him directly he

showed himself before it. Benjamin Franklin looked at the project with

his shrewd, cynical eye. He told Braddock that he would assuredly

take the fort if he could only reach it; but that the long slender

line which his army must form in its march “would be cut like thread

into several pieces” by the hostile Indians. Braddock “smiled at his

ignorance.” Benjamin offered no further opinion. It was his duty to

collect horses and carriages for the use of the expedition, and he did

what was required of him in silence.

The expedition crept slowly forward, never achieving more than three

or four miles in a day; stopping, as Washington said, “to level every

mole-hill, to erect a bridge over every brook.” It left Alexandria on

the 20th April. On the 9th July Braddock, with half his army, was near

the fort. There was yet no evidence that resistance was intended. No

enemy had been seen; the troops marched on as to assured victory. So

confident was their chief, that he refused to employ scouts, and did

not deign to inquire what enemy might be lurking near.

The march was along a road twelve feet wide, in a ravine, with high

ground in front and on both sides. Suddenly the Indian war-whoop

burst from the woods. A murderous fire smote down the troops. The

provincials, not unused to this description of warfare, sheltered

themselves behind trees and fought with steady courage. Braddock,

clinging to his old rules, strove to maintain his order of battle on

the open ground. A carnage, most grim and lamentable, was the result.

His undefended soldiers were shot down by an unseen foe. For three

hours the struggle lasted; then the men broke and fled in utter rout

and panic. Braddock, vainly fighting, fell mortally wounded, and was

carried off the field by some of his soldiers. The poor pedantic man

never got over his astonishment at a defeat so inconsistent with the

established rules of war. “Who would have thought it?” he murmured,

as they bore him from the field. He scarcely spoke again, and died in

two or three days. Nearly eight hundred men, killed and wounded, were

lost in this disastrous encounter--about one-half of the entire force

engaged.

All the while England and France were nominally at peace. But now war

was declared. The other European powers fell into their accustomed

places in the strife, and the flames of war spread far and wide. On

land and on sea the European people strove to shed blood and destroy

property, and thus produce human misery to the largest possible

extent. At the outset every fight brought defeat and shame to England.

English armies under incapable leaders were sent out to America and

ignominiously routed by the French. On the continent of Europe the

uniform course of disaster was scarcely broken by a single victory.

Even at sea, England seemed to have fallen from her high estate, and

her fleets turned back from the presence of an enemy.

The rage of the people knew no bounds. The admiral who had not fought

the enemy when he should have done so, was hanged. The Prime Minister

began to tremble for his neck. One or two disasters more, and the

public indignation might demand a greater victim than an unfortunate

admiral. The Ministry resigned, and William Pitt, afterwards Earl of

Chatham, came into power.

And then, all at once, the scene changed, and there began a career

of triumph more brilliant than even England had ever known. The

French fleets were destroyed; French possessions all over the world

were seized; French armies were defeated. Every post brought news of

victory. For once the English people, greedy as they are of military

glory, were satisfied.

[Sidenote: 1759 A.D.] One of the most splendid successes of Pitt’s

administration was gained in America. The colonists had begun to lose

respect for the English army and the English Government, but Pitt

quickly regained their confidence. They raised an army of 50,000 men to

help his schemes for the extinction of French power. A strong English

force was sent out, and a formidable invasion of Canada was organized.

Most prominent among the strong points held by the French was the city

of Quebec. Thither in the month of June came a powerful English fleet,

with an army under the command of General Wolfe. Captain James Cook,

the famous navigator, who discovered so many of the sunny islands

of the Pacific, was master of one of the ships. Quebec stands upon

a peninsula formed by the junction of the St. Charles and the St.

Lawrence rivers. The lower town was upon the beach; the upper was on

the cliffs, which at that point rise precipitously to a height of two

hundred feet. Wolfe tried the effect of a bombardment. He laid the

lower town in ruins very easily, but the upper town was too remote from

his batteries to sustain much injury. It seemed as if the enterprise

would prove too much for the English, and the sensitive Wolfe was

thrown by disappointment and anxiety into a violent fever. But he

was not the man to be baffled. The shore for miles above the town was

carefully searched. An opening was found whence a path wound up the

cliffs. Here Wolfe would land his men, and lead them to the Heights of

Abraham. Once there, they would defeat the French and take Quebec, or

die where they stood.

On a starlight night in September the soldiers were embarked in boats

which dropped down the river to the chosen landing-place. As the boat

which carried Wolfe floated silently down, he recited to his officers

Gray’s “Elegy in a Country Churchyard,” then newly received from

England; and he exclaimed at its close, “I would rather be the author

of that poem than take Quebec to-morrow.” He was a man of feeble bodily

frame, but he wielded the power which genius in its higher forms

confers. Amid the excitements of impending battle he could walk, with

the old delight, in the quiet paths of literature.

The soldiers landed and clambered, as they best might, up the rugged

pathway. All through the night armed men stepped silently from the

boats and silently scaled those formidable cliffs. The sailors

contrived to drag up a few guns. When morning came, the whole army

stood upon the Heights of Abraham ready for the battle.

[Sidenote: 1759 A.D.] Montcalm, the French commander, was so utterly

taken by surprise that he refused at first to believe the presence

of the English army. He lost no time in marching forth to meet his

unexpected assailants. The conflict which followed was fierce but not

prolonged. The French were soon defeated and put to flight; Quebec

surrendered. But Montcalm did not make that surrender, nor did Wolfe

receive it. Both generals fell in the battle. Wolfe died happy that the

victory was gained. Montcalm was thankful that death spared him the

humiliation of giving up Quebec. They died as enemies; but the men of

a new generation, thinking less of the accidents which made them foes

than of the noble courage and devotedness which united them, placed

their names together upon the monument which marks out to posterity the

scene of this decisive battle.

France did not quietly accept her defeat. Next year she made an attempt

to regain Quebec. It was all in vain. In due time the success of the

English resulted in a treaty of peace, under which France ceded to

England all her claims upon Canada. Spain at the same time relinquished

Florida. England had now undisputed possession of the western

continent, from the region of perpetual winter to the Gulf of Mexico.

CHAPTER IV.

AMERICA ON THE EVE OF THE REVOLUTION.

A century and a half had now passed since the first colony had been

planted on American soil. The colonists were fast ripening into

fitness for independence. They had increased with marvellous rapidity.

Europe never ceased to send forth her superfluous and needy thousands.

America opened wide her hospitable arms and gave assurance of liberty

and comfort to all who came. The thirteen colonies now contained a

population of about three million.

They were eminently a trading people, and their foreign commerce was

already large and lucrative. New England built ships with the timber of

her boundless forests, and sold them to foreign countries. She caught

fish and sent them to the West Indies. She killed whales and sent the

oil to England. New York and Pennsylvania produced wheat, which Spain

and Portugal were willing to buy. Virginia clung to the tobacco-plant,

which Europe was not then, any more than she is now, wise enough to

dispense with. The swampy regions of Carolina and Georgia produced rice

sufficient to supply the European demand. As yet cotton does not take

any rank in the list of exports. But the time is near. Even now Richard

Arkwright is brooding over improvements in the art of spinning cotton.

When these are perfected the growing of cotton will rise quickly to a

supremacy over all the industrial pursuits.

England had not learned to recognize the equality of her colonists

with her own people. The colonies were understood to exist not for

their own good so much as for the good of the mother country. Even

the chimney-sweepers, as Lord Chatham asserted, might be heard in the

streets of London talking boastfully of their subjects in America.

Colonies were settlements “established in distant parts of the world

for the benefit of trade.” As such they were most consistently

treated. The Americans could not import direct any article of foreign

production. Everything must be landed in England and re-shipped thence,

that the English merchant might have profit. One exemption only was

allowed from the operation of this law--the products of Africa, the

unhappy negroes, were conveyed direct to America, and every possible

encouragement was given to that traffic. Notwithstanding the illiberal

restrictions of the home government, the imports of America before the

Revolution had risen almost to the value of three million sterling.

New England had, very early, established her magnificent system of

Common Schools. For two or three generations these had been in full

operation. The people of New England were now probably the most

carefully instructed people in the world. There could not be found a

person born in New England unable to read and write. It had always been

the practice of the Northern people to settle in townships or villages

where education was easily carried to them. In the South it had not

been so. There the Common Schools had taken no root. It was impossible

among a population so scattered. The educational arrangements of the

South have never been adequate to the necessities of the people.

In the early years of America, the foundations were laid of those

differences in character and interest which have since produced

results of such magnitude. The men who peopled the Eastern States had

to contend with a somewhat severe climate and a comparatively sterile

soil. These disadvantages imposed upon them habits of industry and

frugality. Skilled labour alone could be of use in their circumstances.

They were thus mercifully rescued from the curse of slavery--by the

absence of temptation, it may be, rather than by superiority of virtue.

Their simple purity of manners remained long uncorrupted. The firm

texture of mind which upheld them in their early difficulties remained

unenfeebled. Their love of liberty was not perverted into a passion for

supremacy. Among them labour was not degraded by becoming the function

of a despised race. In New England labour has always been honourable.

A just-minded, self-relying, self-helping people, vigorous in acting,

patient in enduring--it was evident from the outset that they, at

least, would not disgrace their ancestry.

The men of the South were very differently circumstanced. Their climate

was delicious; their soil was marvellously fertile; their products were

welcome in the markets of the world; unskilled labour was applicable

in the rearing of all their great staples. Slavery being exceedingly

profitable, struck deep roots very early. It was easy to grow rich. The

colonists found themselves not the employers merely, but the owners of

their labourers. They became aristocratic in feeling and in manners,

resembling the picturesque chiefs of old Europe rather than mere

prosaic growers of tobacco and rice. They had the virtues of chivalry,

and also its vices. They were generous, open-handed, hospitable; but

they were haughty and passionate, improvident, devoted to pleasure and

amusement more than to work of any description. Living apart, each on

his own plantation, the education of children was frequently imperfect,

and the planter himself was bereft of that wholesome discipline to

mind and to temper which residence among equals confers. The two great

divisions of States--those in which slavery was profitable, and those

in which it was unprofitable--were unequally yoked together. Their

divergence of character and interest continued to increase, till it

issued in one of the greatest of recorded wars.

Up to the year 1764, the Americans cherished a deep reverence and

affection for the mother country. They were proud of her great place

among the nations. They gloried in the splendour of her military

achievements; they copied her manners and her fashions. She was in

all things their model. They always spoke of England as “home.” To be

an Old England man was to be a person of rank and importance among

them. They yielded a loving obedience to her laws. They were governed,

as Benjamin Franklin stated it, at the expense of a little pen and

ink. When money was asked from their Assemblies, it was given without

grudge. “They were led by a thread,”--such was their love for the land

which gave them birth.

Ten or twelve years came and went. A marvellous change has passed

upon the temper of the American people. They have bound themselves by

great oaths to use no article of English manufacture--to engage in no

transaction which can put a shilling into any English pocket. They

have formed “the inconvenient habit of carting,”--that is, of tarring

and feathering and dragging through the streets such persons as avow

friendship for the English Government. They burn the Acts of the

English Parliament by the hands of the common hangman. They slay the

King’s soldiers. They refuse every amicable proposal. They cast from

them for ever the King’s authority. They hand down a dislike to the

English name, of which some traces lingered among them for generations.

By what unhallowed magic has this change been wrought so swiftly? By

what process, in so few years, have three million people been taught to

abhor the country they so loved?

The ignorance and folly of the English Government wrought this evil.

But there is little cause for regret. Under the fuller knowledge of our

modern time, colonies are allowed to discontinue their connection with

the mother country when it is their wish to do so. Better had America

gone in peace. But better she went, even in wrath and bloodshed, than

continued in paralyzing dependence upon England.

For many years England had governed her American colonies harshly, and

in a spirit of undisguised selfishness. America was ruled, not for her

own good, but for the good of English commerce. She was not allowed

to export her products except to England. No foreign ship might enter

her ports. Woollen goods were not allowed to be sent from one colony

to another. At one time the manufacture of hats was forbidden. In a

liberal mood Parliament removed that prohibition, but decreed that no

maker of hats should employ any negro workman, or any larger number of

apprentices than two. Iron-works were forbidden. Up to the latest hour

of English rule the Bible was not allowed to be printed in America.

The Americans had long borne the cost of their own government and

defence. But in that age of small revenue and profuse expenditure on

unmeaning continental wars, it had been often suggested that America

should be taxed for the purposes of the home Government. Some one

proposed that to Sir Robert Walpole in a time of need. The wise Sir

Robert shook his head. It must be a bolder man than he was who would

attempt that. A man bolder, because less wise, was found in due time.

[Sidenote: 1764 A.D.] The Seven Years’ War had ended, and England

had added a hundred million to her national debt. The country was

suffering, as countries always do after great wars, and it was no

easy matter to fit the new burdens on to the national shoulder. The

hungry eye of Lord Grenville searched where a new tax might be laid.

The Americans had begun visibly to prosper. Already their growing

wealth was the theme of envious discourse among English merchants. The

English officers who had fought in America spoke in glowing terms of

the magnificent hospitality which had been extended to them. No more

need be said. The House of Commons passed a resolution asserting their

right to tax the Americans. No solitary voice was raised against this

fatal resolution. Immediately after, an Act was passed imposing certain

taxes upon silks, coffee, sugar, and other articles. The Americans

remonstrated. They were willing, they said, to vote what moneys the

King required of them, but they vehemently denied the right of any

Assembly in which they were not represented to take from them any

portion of their property. They were the subjects of the King, but they

owed no obedience to the English Parliament. Lord Grenville went on his

course. He had been told the Americans would complain but submit, and

he believed it. Next session an Act was passed imposing Stamp Duties

on America. The measure awakened no interest. Edmund Burke said he had

never been present at a more languid debate. In the House of Lords

there was no debate at all. With so little trouble was a continent rent

away from the British Empire.

[Sidenote: 1765 A.D.] Benjamin Franklin told the House of Commons that

America would never submit to the Stamp Act, and that no power on earth

could enforce it. The Americans made it impossible for Government

to mistake their sentiments. Riots, which swelled from day to day

into dimensions more “enormous and alarming,” burst forth in the New

England States. Everywhere the stamp distributers were compelled to

resign their offices. One unfortunate man was led forth to Boston

Common, and made to sign his resignation in presence of a vast crowd.

Another, in desperate health, was visited in his sick-room and obliged

to pledge that if he lived he would resign. A universal resolution was

come to that no English goods would be imported till the Stamp Act

was repealed. The colonists would “eat nothing, drink nothing, wear

nothing that comes from England,” while this great injustice endured.

The Act was to come into force on the 1st of November. That day the

bells rang out funereal peals, and the colonists wore the aspect of men

on whom some heavy calamity has fallen. But the Act never came into

force. Not one of Lord Grenville’s stamps was ever bought or sold in

America. Some of the stamped paper was burned by the mob; the rest was

hidden away to save it from the same fate. Without stamps, marriages

were null; mercantile transactions ceased to be binding; suits at law

were impossible. Nevertheless the business of human life went on. Men

married; they bought, they sold; they went to law;--illegally, because

without stamps. But no harm came of it.

England heard with amazement that America refused to obey the law.

There were some who demanded that the Stamp Act should be enforced by

the sword. But it greatly moved the English merchants that America

should cease to import their goods. William Pitt--not yet Earl of

Chatham--denounced the Act, and said he was glad America had resisted.

[Sidenote: 1766 A.D.] Pitt and the merchants triumphed, and the Act was

repealed. There was illumination in the city that night. The city bells

rang for joy; the ships in the Thames displayed all their colours. The

saddest heart in all London was that of poor King George, who never

ceased to lament “the fatal repeal of the Stamp Act.” All America

thrilled with joy and pride when news arrived of the great triumph.

They voted Pitt a statue; they set apart a day for public rejoicing;

all prisoners for debt were set free. A great deliverance had been

granted, and the delight of the gladdened people knew no bounds. The

danger is over for the present; but whosoever governs America now has

need to walk warily.

It was during the agitation arising out of the Stamp Act that the idea

of a General Congress of the States was suggested. A loud cry for union

had arisen. “Join or die” was the prevailing sentiment. The Congress

met in New York. It did little more than discuss and petition. It

is interesting merely as one of the first exhibitions of a tendency

towards federal union in a country whose destiny, in all coming time,

this tendency was to fix.

The repeal of the Stamp Act delayed only for a little the fast-coming

crisis. A new Ministry was formed, with the Earl of Chatham at its

head. But soon the great Earl lay sick and helpless, and the burden

of government rested on incapable shoulders. Charles Townshend, a

clever, captivating, but most indiscreet man, became the virtual

Prime Minister. The feeling in the public mind had now become more

unfavourable to America. Townshend proposed to levy a variety of taxes

from the Americans. The most famous of his taxes was one of threepence

per pound on tea. All his proposals became law.

This time the more thoughtful Americans began to despair of justice.

The boldest scarcely ventured yet to suggest revolt against England,

so powerful and so loved. But the grand final refuge of independence

was silently brooded over by many. The mob fell back on their customary

solution. Great riots occurred. To quell these disorders English

troops encamped on Boston Common. The town swarmed with red-coated

men, every one of whom was a humiliation. Their drums beat on Sabbath,

and troubled the orderly men of Boston, even in church. At intervals

fresh transports dropped in, bearing additional soldiers, till a great

force occupied the town. The galled citizens could ill brook to be

thus bridled. The ministers prayed to Heaven for deliverance from the

presence of the soldiers. The General Court of Massachusetts called

vehemently on the Governor to remove them. The Governor had no powers

in that matter. He called upon the court to make suitable provision for

the King’s troops,--a request which it gave the court infinite pleasure

to refuse.

[Sidenote: 1770 A.D.] The universal irritation broke forth in frequent

brawls between soldiers and people. One wintry moonlight night in

March, when snow and ice lay about the streets of Boston, a more than

usually determined attack was made upon a party of soldiers. The mob

thought the soldiers dared not fire without the order of a magistrate,

and were very bold in the strength of that belief. It proved a mistake.

The soldiers did fire, and the blood of eleven slain or wounded

persons stained the frozen streets. This was “the Boston Massacre,”

which greatly inflamed the patriot antipathy to the mother country.

Two or three unquiet years passed, and no progress towards a settlement

of differences had been made. From all the colonies there came, loud

and unceasing, the voice of complaint and remonstrance. It fell upon

unheeding ears, for England was committed. To her honour be it said, it

was not in the end for money that she alienated her children. The tax

on tea must be maintained to vindicate the authority of England. But

when the tea was shipped, such a drawback was allowed that the price

would actually have been lower in America than it was at home.

The Americans had, upon the whole, kept loyally to their purpose of

importing no English goods, specially no goods on which duty could

be levied. Occasionally, a patriot of the more worldly-minded sort

yielded to temptation, and secretly despatched an order to England.

He was forgiven, if penitent. If obdurate, his name was published,

and a resolution of the citizens to trade no more with a person so

unworthy soon brought him to reason. But, in the main, the colonists

were true to their bond, and when they could no longer smuggle they

ceased to import. The East India Company accumulated vast quantities of

unsaleable tea, for which a market must be found. [Sidenote: 1773 A.D.]

Several ships were freighted with tea, and sent out to America.

Cheaper tea was never seen in America; but it bore upon it the abhorred

tax which asserted British control over the property of Americans.

Will the Americans, long bereaved of the accustomed beverage, yield to

the temptation, and barter their honour for cheap tea? The East India

Company never doubted it; but the Company knew nothing of the temper of

the American people. The ships arrived at New York and Philadelphia.

These cities stood firm. The ships were promptly sent home--their

hatches unopened--and duly bore their rejected cargoes back to the

Thames.

When the ships destined for Boston showed their tall masts in the bay,

the citizens ran together to hold council. It was Sabbath, and the

men of Boston were strict. But here was an exigency, in presence of

which all ordinary rules are suspended. The crisis has come at length.

If that tea is landed it will be sold, it will be used, and American

liberty will become a byword upon the earth.

Samuel Adams was the true King in Boston at that time. He was a

man in middle life, of cultivated mind and stainless reputation--a

powerful speaker and writer--a man in whose sagacity and moderation

all men trusted. He resembled the old Puritans in his stern love of

liberty--his reverence for the Sabbath--his sincere, if somewhat

formal, observance of all religious ordinances. He was among the first

to see that there was no resting-place in this struggle short of

independence. “We are free,” he said, “and want no King.” The men of

Boston felt the power of his resolute spirit, and manfully followed

where Samuel Adams led.

It was hoped that the agents of the East India Company would have

consented to send the ships home; but the agents refused. Several

days of excitement and ineffectual negotiation ensued. People flocked

in from the neighbouring towns. The time was spent mainly in public

meeting; the city resounded with impassioned discourse. But meanwhile

the ships lay peacefully at their moorings, and the tide of patriot

talk seemed to flow in vain. Other measures were visibly necessary.

One day a meeting was held, and the excited people continued in hot

debate till the shades of evening fell. No progress was made. At length

Samuel Adams stood up in the dimly-lighted church, and announced, “This

meeting can do nothing more to save the country.” With a stern shout

the meeting broke up. Fifty men disguised as Indians hurried down to

the wharf, each man with a hatchet in his hand. The crowd followed.

The ships were boarded; the chests of tea were brought on deck, broken

up, and flung into the bay. The approving citizens looked on in

silence. It was felt by all that the step was grave and eventful in the

highest degree. So still was the crowd that no sound was heard but the

stroke of the hatchet and the splash of the shattered chests as they

fell into the sea. All questions about the disposal of those cargoes of

tea at all events are now solved.

* * * * *

This is what America has done; it is for England to make the next move.

Lord North was now at the head of the British Government. It was his

lordship’s belief that the troubles in America sprang from a small

number of ambitious persons, and could easily, by proper firmness, be

suppressed. “The Americans will be lions while we are lambs,” said

General Gage. The King believed this, and Lord North believed it. In

this deep ignorance he proceeded to deal with the great emergency.

He closed Boston as a port for the landing and shipping of goods. He

imposed a fine to indemnify the East India Company for their lost teas.

He withdrew the Charter of Massachusetts. He authorized the Governor to

send political offenders to England for trial. Great voices were raised

against these severities. Lord Chatham, old in constitution now, if

not in years, and near the close of his career, pled for measures of

conciliation. Edmund Burke justified the resistance of the Americans.

Their opposition was fruitless. All Lord North’s measures of repression

became law; and General Gage, with an additional force of soldiers,

was sent to Boston to carry them into effect. Gage was an authority

on American affairs. He had fought under Braddock. Among blind men

the one-eyed man is king; among the profoundly ignorant, the man with

a little knowledge is irresistibly persuasive. “Four regiments sent

to Boston,” said the hopeful Gage, “will prevent any disturbance.”

He was believed; but, unhappily for his own comfort, he was sent to

Boston to secure the fulfilment of his own prophecy. He threw up some

fortifications and lay as in a hostile city. The Americans appointed a

day of fasting and humiliation. They did more. They formed themselves

into military companies; they occupied themselves with drill; they laid

up stores of ammunition. Most of them had muskets, and could use them.

He who had no musket now got one. They hoped that civil war would be

averted, but there was no harm in being ready.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: Sept. 5, 1774 A.D.] While General Gage was throwing up his

fortifications at Boston, there met in Philadelphia a Congress of

delegates, sent by the States, to confer in regard to the troubles

which were thickening round them. Twelve States were represented.

Georgia as yet paused timidly on the brink of the perilous enterprise.

They were notable men who met there, and their work is held in enduring

honour. “For genuine sagacity, for singular moderation, for solid

wisdom,” said the great Earl of Chatham, “the Congress of Philadelphia

shines unrivalled.” The low-roofed quaint old room in which their

meetings were held, became one of the shrines which Americans delight

to visit. George Washington was there, and his massive sense and

copious knowledge were a supreme guiding power. Patrick Henry, then

a young man, brought to the council a wisdom beyond his years, and a

fiery eloquence, which, to some of his hearers, seemed almost more

than human. He had already proved his unfitness for farming and for

shop-keeping. He was now to prove that he could utter words which swept

over a continent, thrilling men’s hearts like the voice of the trumpet,

and rousing them to heroic deeds. John Routledge from South Carolina

aided him with an eloquence little inferior to his own. Richard Henry

Lee, with his Roman aspect, his bewitching voice, his ripe scholarship,

his rich stores of historical and political knowledge, would have

graced the highest assemblies of the Old World. John Dickenson, the

wise farmer from the banks of the Delaware, whose Letters had done so

much to form the public sentiment--his enthusiastic love of England

overborne by his sense of wrong--took regretful but resolute part in

withstanding the tyranny of the English Government.

We have the assurance of Washington that the members of this Congress

did not aim at independence. As yet it was their wish to have wrongs

redressed and to continue British subjects. Their proceedings give

ample evidence of this desire. They drew up a narrative of their

wrongs. As a means of obtaining redress, they adopted a resolution that

all commercial intercourse with Britain should cease. They addressed

the King, imploring his majesty to remove those grievances which

endangered their relations with him. They addressed the people of Great

Britain, with whom, they said, they deemed a union as their greatest

glory and happiness; adding, however, that they would not be hewers of

wood and drawers of water to any nation in the world. They appealed

to their brother colonists of Canada for support in their peaceful

resistance to oppression. But Canada, newly conquered from France,

was peopled almost wholly by Frenchmen. A Frenchman of that time was

contented to enjoy such an amount of liberty and property as his King

was pleased to permit. And so from Canada there came no response of

sympathy or help.

Here Congress paused. Some members believed, with Washington, that

their remonstrances would be effectual. Others, less sanguine, looked

for no settlement but that which the sword might bring. They adjourned,

to meet again next May. This is enough for the present. What further

steps the new events of that coming summer may call for, we shall be

prepared, with God’s help, to take.

England showed no relenting in her treatment of the Americans. The

King gave no reply to the address of Congress. The Houses of Lords

and of Commons refused even to allow that address to be read in their

hearing. The King announced his firm purpose to reduce the refractory

colonists to obedience. Parliament gave loyal assurances of support to

the blinded monarch. All trade with the colonies was forbidden. All

American ships and cargoes might be seized by those who were strong

enough to do so. The alternative presented to the American choice was

without disguise--the Americans had to fight for their liberty, or

forego it. The people of England had, in those days, no control over

the government of their country. All this was managed for them by a few

great families. Their allotted part was to toil hard, pay their taxes,

and be silent. If they had been permitted to speak, their voice would

have vindicated the men who asserted the right of self-government--a

right which Englishmen themselves were not to enjoy for many a long

year.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: 1775 A.D.] General Gage had learned that considerable stores

of ammunition were collected at the village of Concord, eighteen

miles from Boston. He would seize them in the King’s name. Late one

April night eight hundred soldiers set out on this errand. They hoped

their coming would be unexpected, as care had been taken to prevent

the tidings from being carried out of Boston. But as they marched,

the clang of bells and the firing of guns gave warning far and near

of their approach. In the early morning they reached Lexington. Some

hours before, a body of militia awaited them there. But the morning was

chill and the hour untimely, and the patriots were allowed to seek the

genial shelter of the tavern, under pledge to appear at beat of drum.

Seventy of them did so, mostly, we are told, “in a confused state.”

Major Pitcairn commanded them to disperse. The patriots did not at once

obey the summons. It was impossible that seventy volunteers could mean

to fight eight hundred British soldiers; it is more likely they did

not clearly understand what was required of them. Firing ensued. The

Americans say that the first shot came from the British. Major Pitcairn

always asserted that he himself saw a countryman give the first fire

from behind a wall. It can never be certainly known, but there was now

firing enough. The British stood and shot, in their steady unconcerned

way, at the poor mistaken seventy. The patriots fled fast. Eighteen

of their number did not join the flight. These lay in their blood on

the village green, dead or wounded men. Thus was the war begun between

England and her colonies.

The British pushed on to Concord, and destroyed all the military stores

they could find. It was not much, for there had been time to carry off

nearly everything. By noon the work was done, and the wearied troops

turned their faces towards Boston.

They were not suffered to march alone. All that morning grim-faced

yeomen--of the Ironside type, each man with a musket in his hand--had

been hurrying into Concord. The British march was mainly on a road cut

through dense woods. As they advanced, the vengeful yeomanry hung upon

their flanks and rear. On every side there streamed forth an incessant

and murderous fire, under which the men fell fast. No effort could

dislodge those deadly but almost unseen foes. During all the terrible

hours of that return march the fire of the Americans never flagged, and

could seldom be returned. It was sunset ere the soldiers, half dead

with fatigue, got home to Boston. In killed, wounded, and prisoners,

this fatal expedition had cost nearly three hundred men. The blood shed

at Lexington had been swiftly and deeply avenged.

CHAPTER V.

BUNKER HILL.

The encounters at Lexington and Concord thoroughly aroused the American

people. The news rang through the land that blood had been spilt--that

already there were martyrs to the great cause. Mounted couriers

galloped along all highways. Over the bustle of the market-place--in

the stillness of the quiet village church--there broke the startling

shout, “The war has begun.” All men felt that the hour had come, and

they promptly laid aside their accustomed labour that they might gird

themselves for the battle. North Carolina, in her haste, threw off the

authority of the King, and formed herself into military companies.

Timid Georgia sent gifts of money and of rice, and cheering letters,

to confirm the bold purposes of the men of Boston. In aristocratic and

loyal Virginia there was a general rush to arms. From every corner

of the New England States men hurried to Boston. Down in pleasant

Connecticut an old man was ploughing his field one April afternoon.

His name was Israel Putnam. He was now a farmer and tavern-keeper--a

combination frequent at that time in New England, and not at all

inconsistent, we are told, “with a Roman character.” Formerly he had

been a warrior. He had fought the Indians, and had narrowly escaped

the jeopardies of such warfare. Once he had been bound to a tree, and

the savages were beginning to toss their tomahawks at his head, when

unhoped-for rescue found him. As rugged old Israel ploughed his field,

some one told him of Lexington. That day he ploughed no more. He sent

word home that he had gone to Boston. Unyoking his horse from the

plough, in a few minutes he was mounted and hastening towards the camp.

Boston and its suburbs stand on certain islets and peninsulas, access

to which, from the mainland, is gained by one isthmus which is called

Boston Neck, and another isthmus which is called Charlestown Neck. A

city thus circumstanced is not difficult to blockade. The American

Yeomanry blockaded Boston. There were five thousand soldiers in the

town; but the retreat from Concord inclined General Gage to some

measure of patient endurance, and he made no attempt to raise the

blockade.

The month of May was wearing on, and still General Gage lay inactive.

Still patriot Americans poured into the blockading camp. They were

utterly undisciplined, and wholly without uniform. The English scorned

them as a rabble “with calico frocks and fowling-pieces.” But they were

Anglo-Saxons with arms in their hands, and a fixed purpose in their

minds. It was very likely that the unwise contempt of their enemies

would not be long unrebuked.

On the 25th, several English ships of war dropped their anchors in

Boston Bay. It was rumoured that they brought large reinforcements

under Howe, Burgoyne, and Clinton--the best generals England possessed.

Shortly it became known that Gage now felt himself strong enough to

break out upon his rustic besiegers. But the choice of time and place

for the encounter was not to be left with General Gage.

On Charlestown peninsula, within easy gun-shot of Boston, there are two

low hills, one of which, the higher, is called Bunker Hill, and the

other Breed’s Hill. In a council of war the Americans determined to

seize and fortify one of these heights, and there abide the onslaught

of the English. There was not a moment to lose. It was said that Gage

intended to occupy the heights on the night of the 18th June. But

Gage was habitually too late. On the 16th, a little before sunset,

twelve hundred Americans were mustered on Cambridge Common for special

service. Colonel Prescott, a veteran who had fought against the French,

was in command. Putnam was with him, to be useful where he could,

although without specified duties. Prayers were said; and the men,

knowing only that they went to battle, and perhaps to death, set forth

upon their march. They marched in silence, for their way led them under

the guns of English ships. They reached the hill-top undiscovered by

the supine foe. It was a lovely June night--warm and still. Far down

lay the English ships--awful, but as yet harmless. Across the Charles

river, Boston and her garrison slept the sleep of the unsuspecting. The

“All’s well” of the sentinel crept, from time to time, dreamily up the

hill. Swift now with spade and mattock, for the hours of this midsummer

night are few and precious--swift, but cautious, too, for one ringing

stroke of iron upon stone may ruin all!

When General Gage looked out upon the heights next morning, he saw a

strong intrenchment and swarms of armed men where the untrodden grass

had waved in the summer breeze a few hours before. He looked long

through his glass at this unwelcome apparition. A tall figure paced to

and fro along the rude parapet. It was Prescott. “Will he fight?” asked

Gage eagerly. “Yes, sir,” replied a bystander; “to the last drop of his

blood.”

It was indispensable that the works should be taken, and a plan of

attack was immediately formed. It was sufficiently simple. No one

supposed that the Americans would stand the shock of regular troops.

The English were therefore to march straight up the hill and drive the

Americans away. Meanwhile reinforcements were sent to the Americans,

and supplies of ammunition were distributed. A gill of powder, to

be carried in a powder-horn or loose in the pocket, two flints and

fifteen balls, were served out to each man. To obtain even the fifteen

balls, they had to melt down the organ-pipes of an Episcopal church at

Cambridge.

At noon English soldiers to the number of two thousand crossed

over from Boston. The men on the hill-top looked out from their

intrenchments upon a splendid vision of bright uniforms and bayonets

and field-pieces flashing in the sun. They looked with quickened pulse

but unshaken purpose. To men of their race it is not given to know fear

on the verge of battle.

The English soldiers paused for refreshments when they landed on

the Charlestown peninsula. The Americans could hear the murmur of

their noisy talk and laughter. They saw the pitchers of grog pass

along the ranks. And then they saw the Englishmen rise and stretch

themselves to their grim morning’s work. From the steeples and

house-tops of Boston--from all the heights which stand round about the

city--thousands of Americans watched the progress of the fight.

The soldiers had no easy task before them. The day was “exceeding hot,”

the grass was long and thick, the up-hill march was toilsome, the enemy

watchful and resolute. As if to render the difficulty greater, the men

carried three days’ provision with them in their knapsacks. Each man

had a burden which weighed one hundred and twenty pounds in knapsack,

musket, and other equipments. Thus laden they began their perilous

ascent.

While yet a long way from the enemy they opened a harmless fire of

musketry. There was no reply from the American lines. Putnam had

directed the men to withhold their fire till they could see the white

of the Englishmen’s eyes, and then to aim low. The Englishmen were very

near the works when the word was given. Like the left-handed slingers

of the tribe of Benjamin, the Americans could shoot to a hairbreadth.

Every man took his steady aim, and when they gave forth their volley

few bullets sped in vain. The slaughter was enormous. The English

recoiled in some confusion, a pitiless rain of bullets following them

down the hill. Again they advanced almost to the American works, and

again they sustained a bloody repulse. And now, at the hill-foot, they

laid down their knapsacks and stripped off their great-coats. They

were resolute this time to end the fight by the bayonet. The American

ammunition was exhausted, and they could give the enemy only a single

volley. The English swarmed over the parapet. The Americans had no

bayonets, but for a time they waged unequal war with stones and the

butt-ends of their muskets. They were soon driven out, and fled down

the hill and across the Neck to Cambridge, the English ships raking

them with grape-shot as they ran.

They had done their work. Victory no doubt remained with the English.

Their object was to carry the American intrenchments, and they had

carried them. Far greater than this was the gain of the Americans.

It was proved that, with the help of some slight field-works, it was

possible for undisciplined patriots to meet on equal terms the best

troops England could send against them. Henceforth the success of the

Revolution was assured. “Thank God,” said Washington, when he heard

of the battle, “the liberties of the country are safe.” Would that

obstinate King George could have been made to see it! But many wives

must be widows, and many children fatherless, before those dull eyes

will open to the unwelcome truth.

Sixteen hundred men lay, dead or wounded, on that fatal slope. The

English had lost nearly eleven hundred; the Americans nearly five

hundred. Seldom indeed in any battle has so large a proportion of the

combatants fallen.

* * * * *

The Americans, who had thus taken up arms and resisted and slain the

King’s troops, were wholly without authority for what they had done.

No governing body of any description had employed them or recognized

them. What were still more alarming deficiencies, they were without a

general, and without adequate supply of food and ammunition. [Sidenote:

1775 A.D.] Congress now, by a unanimous vote, adopted the army, and

elected George Washington Commander-in-Chief of the patriot forces.

They took measures to enlist soldiers, and to raise money for their

support.

When Washington reached the army before Boston, he found it to consist

of fourteen thousand men. They were quite undisciplined, and almost

without ammunition. Their stock of powder would afford only nine rounds

to each man. They could thus have made no use of their artillery. Their

rude intrenchments stretched a distance of eight or nine miles. At any

moment the English might burst upon them, piercing their weak lines,

and rolling them back in hopeless rout. But the stubborn provincials

were, as yet, scarcely soldiers enough to know their danger.

Taking counsel only of their own courage, they strengthened their

intrenchment, and tenaciously maintained their hold on Boston.

From a convenient hill-top Washington looked at his foe. He saw a

British army of ten thousand men, perfect in discipline and equipment.

It was a noble engine, but, happily for the world, it was guided by

incompetent hands. General Gage tamely endured siege without daring to

strike a single blow at the audacious patriots. It was no easy winter

in either army. The English suffered from small-pox. Their fleet failed

to secure for them an adequate supply of food. They had to pull down

houses to obtain wood for fuel, at the risk of being hanged if they

were discovered. They were dispirited by long inaction. They knew

that in England the feeling entertained about them was one of bitter

disappointment. Poor Gage was recalled by an angry Ministry, and

quitted in disgrace that Boston where he had hoped for such success.

General Howe succeeded to his command, and to his policy of inactivity.

Washington on his side was often in despair. His troops were mainly

enlisted for three months only. Their love of country gave way

under the hardships of a soldier’s life. Washington was a strict

disciplinarian, and many a free-born back was scored by the lash.

Patriotism proved a harder service than the men counted for. Fast as

their time of service expired they set their faces homeward. Washington

plied them with patriotic appeals, and even caused patriot songs to be

sung about the camp. Not thus, however, could the self-indulgent men

of Massachusetts and Connecticut be taught to scorn delights and live

laborious days. “Such dearth of public spirit,” Washington writes, “and

such want of virtue, such fertility in all the low arts, I never saw

before.” [Sidenote: 1776 A.D.] When January came he had a new army,

much smaller than the old, and the same weary process of drilling began

afresh. He knew that Howe was aware of his position. The inactivity

of the English general astonished Washington. He could explain it no

otherwise than by believing that Providence watched over the liberties

of the American people.

In February liberal supplies of arms and ammunition reached him. There

came also ten regiments of militia. Washington was now strong enough to

take a step.

To the south of Boston city lie the Heights of Dorchester. If the

Americans can seize and hold these heights, the English must quit

Boston. The night of the 4th of March was fixed for the enterprise. A

heavy fire of artillery occupied the attention of the enemy. By the

light of an unclouded moon a strong working-party took their way to

Dorchester Heights. A long train of waggons accompanied them, laden

with hard-pressed bales of hay. These were needed to form a breastwork,

as a hard frost bound the earth, and digging alone could not be relied

upon. The men worked with such spirit, that by dawn the bales of hay

had been fashioned into various redoubts and other defences of most

formidable aspect. A thick fog lay along the heights, and the new

fortress looked massive and imposing in the haze. “The rebels,” said

Howe, “have done more work in one night than my whole army would have

done in a month.”

And now the English must fight, or yield up Boston. The English chose

to fight. They were in the act of embarking to get at the enemy when

a furious east wind began to blow, scattering their transports and

compelling the delay of the attack. All next day the storm continued to

rage, and the English, eager for battle, lay in unwilling idleness. The

vigorous Americans never ceased to dig and build. On the third day the

storm abated. But it was now General Howe’s opinion that the American

position was impregnable. It may be that he was wisely cautious; it

may be that he was merely fearful. But he laid aside his thoughts of

battle, and prepared to evacuate Boston. On the 17th the last English

soldier was on board, and all New England was finally wrested from King

George.

CHAPTER VI.

INDEPENDENCE.

Even yet, after months of fighting, the idea of final separation from

Great Britain was distasteful to a large portion of the American

people. To the more enlightened it had long been evident that no

other course was possible, but very many still clung to the hope

of a friendly settlement of differences. Some, who were native

Englishmen, loved the land of their birth better than the land of their

adoption. The Quakers and Moravians were opposed to war as sinful,

and would content themselves with such redress as could be obtained

by remonstrance. Some, who deeply resented the oppressions of the

home Government, were slow to relinquish the privilege of British

citizenship. Some would willingly have fought had there been hope of

success, but could not be convinced that America was able to defend

herself against the colossal strength of England. The subject was

discussed long and keenly. The intelligence of America was in favour

of separation. All the writers of the colonies urged incessantly that

to this it must come. Endless pamphlets and gazette articles set forth

the oppressions of the old country, and the need of independence in

order to the welfare of the colonies. Conspicuous among those whose

writings aided in convincing the public mind stands the unhonoured

name of Thomas Paine the infidel. Paine had been only a few months in

the colonies, but his restless mind took a ready interest in the great

question of the day. He had a surprising power of direct, forcible

argument. He wrote a pamphlet styled “Common Sense,” in which he urged

the Americans to be independent. His treatise had, for those days, a

vast circulation, and an extraordinary influence.

[Sidenote: 1776 A.D.] The time was now ripe for the consideration by

Congress of the great question of Independence. It was a grave and most

eventful step, which no thinking man would lightly take, but it could

no longer be shunned. On the 7th of June a resolution was introduced,

declaring “That the United Colonies are and ought to be free and

independent.” The House was not yet prepared for a measure so decisive.

Many members still paused on the threshold of that vast change.

Pennsylvania and Delaware had expressly enjoined their delegates to

oppose it; for the Quakers were loyal to the last. Some other States

had given no instructions, and their delegates felt themselves bound,

in consequence, to vote against the change. Seven States voted for

the resolution; six voted against it. Greater unanimity than this was

indispensable. With much prudence it was agreed that the matter should

stand over for two or three weeks.

On the 4th of July the Declaration of Independence was adopted, with

the unanimous concurrence of all the States. In this famous document

the usurpations of the English Government were set forth in unsparing

terms. The divinity which doth hedge a King did not protect poor King

George from a rougher handling than he ever experienced before. His

character, it was said, “was marked by every act which can define a

tyrant.” And then it was announced to the world that the Thirteen

Colonies had terminated their political connection with Great Britain,

and entered upon their career as free and independent States.

The vigorous action of Congress nerved the colonists for their great

enterprise. The paralyzing hope of reconciliation was extinguished.

The quarrel must now be fought out to the end, and liberty must be

gloriously won or shamefully lost. Everywhere the Declaration was

hailed with joy. It was read to the army amidst exulting shouts. The

soldiers in New York expressed their transference of allegiance by

taking down a leaden statue of King George and casting it into bullets

to be used against the King’s troops. Next day Washington, in the

dignified language which was habitual to him, reminded his troops of

their new duties and responsibilities. “The general,” he said, “hopes

and trusts that every officer and soldier will endeavour so to live and

act as becomes a Christian soldier, defending the dearest rights and

liberties of his country.”

CHAPTER VII.

AT WAR.

England put forth as much strength as she deemed needful to subdue her

rebellious colonists. She prepared a strong fleet and a strong army.

She entered into contracts with some of the petty German princes to

supply a certain number of soldiers. It was a matter of regular sale

and purchase. England supplied money at a fixed rate; the Duke of

Brunswick and some others supplied a stipulated number of men, who

were to shed their blood in a quarrel of which they knew nothing. Even

in a dark age these transactions were a scandal. Frederick of Prussia

loudly expressed his contempt for both parties. When any of the hired

men passed through any part of his territory he levied on them the toll

usually charged for cattle--like which, he said, they had been sold!

* * * * *

So soon as the safety of Boston was secured, Washington moved with

his army southwards to New York. Thither, in the month of June, came

General Howe. Thither also came his brother, Lord Howe, with the

forces which England had provided for this war. These reinforcements

raised the British army to twenty-five thousand men. Lord Howe brought

with him a commission from King George to pacify the dissatisfied

colonists. He invited them to lay down their arms, and he assured them

of the King’s pardon. His proposals were singularly inopportune. The

Declaration of Independence had just been published, and the Americans

had determined to be free. They were not seeking to be forgiven, and

they rejected with scorn Lord Howe’s proposals. The sword must now

decide between King George and his alienated subjects.

Lord Howe encamped his troops on Staten Island, a few miles from New

York. His powerful fleet gave him undisputed command of the bay, and

enabled him to choose his point of attack. The Americans expected that

he would land upon Long Island, and take possession of the heights near

Brooklyn. He would then be separated from New York only by a narrow arm

of the sea, and he could with ease lay the city in ruins. Washington

sent a strong force to hold the heights, and throw up intrenchments

in front of Brooklyn. General Putnam was appointed to the command of

this army. Staten Island lies full in view of Brooklyn. The white tents

of the English army, and the formidable English ships lying at their

anchorage, were watched by many anxious eyes, for the situation was

known to be full of peril. Washington himself did not expect success

in the coming fight, and hoped for nothing more than that the enemy’s

victory would cost him dear.

After a time it was seen that a movement was in progress among the

English. One by one the tents disappeared. One by one the ships shook

their canvas out to the wind, and moved across the bay. Then the

Americans knew that their hour of trial was at hand.

[Sidenote: Aug. 27, 1776 A.D.] Putnam marched his men out from their

lines to meet the English. At daybreak the enemy made his appearance.

The right wing of the American army was attacked, and troops were

withdrawn from other points to resist what seemed the main attack.

Meanwhile a strong English force made its way unseen round the

American left, and established itself between the Americans and their

intrenchments. This decided the fate of the battle. The Americans made

a brave but vain defence. They were driven within their lines after

sustaining heavy loss.

Lord Howe could easily have stormed the works, and taken or destroyed

the American army. But his lordship felt that his enemy was in his

power, and he wished to spare his soldiers the bloodshed which an

assault would have caused. He was to reduce the enemy’s works by

regular siege. It was no part of Washington’s intention to wait for the

issue of these operations. During the night of the 29th he silently

withdrew his broken troops, and landed them safely in New York. So

skilfully was this movement executed, that the last boat had pushed off

from the shore before the British discovered that their enemies had

departed.

But now New York had to be abandoned. Washington’s army was utterly

demoralized by the defeat at Brooklyn. The men went home, in some

instances, by entire regiments. Washington confessed to the President

of Congress with deep concern that he had no confidence “in the

generality of the troops.” To fight the well-disciplined and victorious

British with such men was worse than useless. He marched northwards,

and took up a strong position at Haerlem, a village nine miles from

New York. But the English ships, sweeping up the Hudson river, showed

themselves on his flank and in his rear; the English army approached

him in front. There was no choice but retreat. Washington crossed his

soldiers over to the Jersey side of the river. The English followed

him, after storming a fort in which nearly three thousand men had been

left, the whole of whom were made prisoners.

The fortunes of the revolted colonies were now at the very lowest ebb.

Washington had only four thousand men under his immediate command. They

were in miserable condition--imperfectly armed, poorly fed and clothed,

without blankets, or tents, or shoes. An English officer said of them,

without extreme exaggeration, “In a whole regiment there is scarce one

pair of breeches.” This was the army which was to snatch a continent

from the grasp of England! As they marched towards Philadelphia the

people looked with derision upon their ragged defenders, and with

fear upon the brilliant host of pursuers. Lord Howe renewed his offer

of pardon to all who would submit. This time his lordship’s offers

commanded some attention. Many of the wealthier patriots took the oath,

and made their peace with a Government whose authority there was no

longer any hope of throwing off.

Washington made good his retreat to Philadelphia, so hotly pursued that

his rear-guard, engaged in pulling down bridges, were often in sight

of the British pioneers sent to build them up. When he crossed the

Delaware he secured all the boats for a distance of seventy miles along

the river-course. Lord Howe was brought to a pause, and he decided to

wait upon the eastern bank till the river should be frozen.

Washington knew well the desperate odds against him. He expected to

be driven from the Eastern States. It was his thought, in that case,

to retire beyond the Alleghanies, and in the wilderness to maintain

undying resistance to the English yoke. Meantime he strove like a

brave strong man to win back success to the patriot cause. It was only

now that he was able to rid himself of the evil of short enlistments.

Congress resolved that henceforth men should be enlisted to serve out

the war.

Winter came, but Lord Howe remained inactive. He himself was in New

York; his army was scattered about among the villages of New Jersey,

fearing no evil from the despised Americans. All the time Washington

was increasing the number of his troops, and improving their condition.

But something was needed to chase away the gloom which paralyzed the

country. Ten miles from Philadelphia was the village of Trenton, held

by a considerable force of British and Hessians. At sunset on Christmas

evening Washington marched out from Philadelphia, having prepared

a surprise for the careless garrison of Trenton. The night was dark

and tempestuous, and the weather was so intensely cold that two of

the soldiers were frozen to death. The march of the barefooted host

could be tracked by the blood-marks which they left upon the snow.

At daybreak they burst upon the astonished Royalists. The Hessians

had drunk deep on the previous day, and they were ill prepared to

fight. Their commander was slain as he attempted to bring his men up

to the enemy. After his fall the soldiers laid down their arms, and

surrendered at discretion.

[Sidenote: 1777 A.D.] A week after this encounter three British

regiments spent a night at Princeton, on their way to Trenton to

retrieve the disaster which had there befallen their Hessian allies.

Washington made another night march, attacked the Englishmen in

the early morning, and after a stubborn resistance defeated them,

inflicting severe loss.

These exploits, inconsiderable as they seem, raised incalculably the

spirits of the American people. When triumphs like these were possible

under circumstances so discouraging, there was no need to despair of

the Commonwealth. Confidence in Washington had been somewhat shaken

by the defeats which he had sustained. Henceforth it was unbounded.

Congress invested him with absolute military authority for a period of

six months, and public opinion confirmed the trust. The infant Republic

was delivered from its most imminent jeopardy by the apparently trivial

successes of Trenton and Princeton.

CHAPTER VIII.

SYMPATHY BEYOND THE SEA.

France still felt, with all the bitterness of the vanquished, her

defeat at Quebec and her loss of Canada. She had always entertained the

hope that the Americans would avenge her by throwing off the English

yoke. To help forward its fulfilment, she sent occasionally a secret

agent among them, to cultivate their good-will to the utmost. When

the troubles began she sent secret assurances of sympathy, and secret

offers of commercial advantages. She was not prepared as yet openly

to espouse the American cause. But it was always safe to encourage

the American dislike to England, and to connive at the fitting out of

American privateers, to prey upon English commerce.

The Marquis de Lafayette was at this time serving in the French army.

He was a lad of nineteen, of immense wealth, and enjoying a foremost

place among the nobility of France. The American revolt had now become

a topic at French dinner-tables. Lafayette heard of it first from the

Duke of Gloucester, who told the story at a dinner given to him by

some French officers. That conversation changed the destiny of the

young Frenchman. “He was a man of no ability,” said Napoleon. “There

is nothing in his head but the United States,” said Marie Antoinette.

These judgments are perhaps not unduly severe. But Lafayette had the

deepest sympathies with the cause of human liberty. They may not have

been always wise, but they were always generous and true. No sooner

had he satisfied himself that the American cause was the cause of

liberty than he hastened to ally himself with it. He left his young

wife and his great position, and he offered himself to Washington. His

military value may not have been great; but his presence was a vast

encouragement to a desponding people. He was a visible assurance of

sympathy beyond the sea. America is the most grateful of nations; and

this good, impulsive, vain man has ever deservedly held a high place

in her love. Washington once, with tears of joy in his eyes, presented

Lafayette to his troops. Counties are named after him, and cities and

streets. Statues and paintings hand down to successive generations of

Americans the image of their first and most faithful ally.

Lafayette was the lightning-rod by which the current of republican

sentiments was flashed from America to France. He came home when the

war was over and America free. He was the hero of the hour. A man who

had helped to set up a Republic in America was an unquiet element for

old France to receive back into her bosom. With the charm of a great

name and boundless popularity to aid him, he everywhere urged that men

should be free and self-governing. Before he had been long in France

he was busily stirring up the oppressed Protestants of the south to

revolt. Happily the advice of Washington, with whom he continued to

correspond, arrested a course which might have led the enthusiastic

Marquis to the scaffold. Few men of capacity so moderate have been

so conspicuous, or have so powerfully influenced the course of human

affairs.

CHAPTER IX.

THE WAR CONTINUES.

Spring-time came--“the time when Kings go out to battle”--but General

Howe was not ready. Washington was contented to wait, for he gained by

delay. [Sidenote: 1777 A.D.] Congress sent him word that he was to

lose no time in totally subduing the enemy. Washington could now afford

to smile at the vain confidence which had so quickly taken the place of

despair. Recruits flowed in upon him in a steady, if not a very copious

stream. The old soldiers whose terms expired were induced, by bounties

and patriotic appeals, to re-enlist for the war. By the middle of June,

when Howe opened the campaign, Washington had eight thousand men under

his command, tolerably armed and disciplined, and in good fighting

spirit. The patriotic sentiment was powerfully reinforced by a thirst

to avenge private wrongs. Howe’s German mercenaries had behaved very

brutally in New Jersey--plundering and burning without stint. Many of

the Americans had witnessed outrages such as turn the coward’s blood to

flame.

Howe wished to take Philadelphia, then the political capital of the

States. But Washington lay across his path, in a strong position, from

which he could not be enticed to descend. Howe marched towards him, but

shunned to attack him where he lay. Then he turned back to New York,

and embarking his troops, sailed with them to Philadelphia. The army

was landed on the 25th August, and Howe was at length ready to begin

the summer’s work.

The American army waited for him on the banks of a small river called

the Brandywine. The British superiority in numbers enabled them to

attack the Americans in front and in flank. The Americans say that

their right wing, on which the British attack fell with crushing

weight, was badly led. One of the generals of that division was a

certain William Alexander--known to himself and the country of his

adoption as Lord Stirling--a warrior brave but foolish; “aged, and a

little deaf.” The Americans were driven from the field; but they had

fought bravely, and were undismayed by their defeat.

A fortnight later a British force, with Lord Cornwallis at its head,

marched into Philadelphia. The Royalists were strong in that city of

Quakers--specially strong among the Quakers themselves. The city was

moved to unwonted cheerfulness. On that September morning, as the

loyal inhabitants looked upon the bright uniforms and flashing arms

of the King’s troops, and listened to the long-forbidden strains of

“God save the King,” they felt as if a great and final deliverance

had been vouchsafed to them. The patriots estimated the fall of the

city more justly. It was seen that if Howe meant to hold Philadelphia,

he had not force enough to do much else. Said the sagacious Benjamin

Franklin,--“It is not General Howe that has taken Philadelphia; it is

Philadelphia that has taken General Howe.”

The main body of the British were encamped at Germantown, guarding

their new conquest. So little were the Americans daunted by their

late reverses, that, within a week from the capture of Philadelphia,

Washington resolved to attack the enemy. At sunrise on the 4th

October the English were unexpectedly greeted by a bayonet-charge

from a strong American force. It was a complete surprise, and at

first the success was complete. But a dense fog, which had rendered

the surprise possible, ultimately frustrated the purpose of the

assailants. The onset of the eager Americans carried all before it. But

as the darkness, enhanced by the firing, deepened over the combatants,

confusion began to arise. Regiments got astray from their officers.

Some regiments mistook each other for enemies, and acted on that

belief. Confusion swelled to panic, and the Americans fled from the

field.

Winter was now at hand, and the British army returned to quarters in

Philadelphia. Howe would have fought again, but Washington declined to

come down from the strong position to which he had retired. His army

had again been suffered to fall into straits which threatened its very

existence. A patriot Congress urged him to defeat the English, but

could not be persuaded to supply his soldiers with shoes or blankets,

or even with food. He was advised to fall back on some convenient town

where his soldiers would find the comforts they needed so much. But

Washington was resolute to keep near the enemy. He fixed on a position

at Valley Forge, among the hills, twenty miles from Philadelphia.

Thither through the snow marched his half-naked army. Log-huts were

erected with a rapidity of which no soldiers are so capable as

Americans. There Washington fixed himself. The enemy was within reach,

and he knew that his own strength would grow. The campaign which had

now closed had given much encouragement to the patriots. It is true

they had been often defeated, but they had learned to place implicit

confidence in their commander. They had learned also that in courage

they were equal, in activity greatly superior, to their enemies. All

they required was discipline and experience, which another campaign

would give. There was no longer any reason to look with alarm upon the

future.

CHAPTER X.

THE SURRENDER AT SARATOGA.

In the month of June, when Howe was beginning to win his lingering way

to Philadelphia, a British army set out from Canada to conquer the

northern parts of the revolted territory. [Sidenote: 1777 A.D.] General

Burgoyne was in command. He was resolute to succeed. “This army must

not retreat,” he said, when they were about to embark. The army did not

retreat. On a fair field general and soldiers would have played a part

of which their country would have had no cause to be ashamed. But this

was a work beyond their strength.

Burgoyne marched deep into the New England States. But he had to do

with men of a different temper from those of New York and Philadelphia.

At his approach every man took down his musket from the wall and

hurried to the front. Little discipline had they, but a resolute

purpose and a sure aim. Difficulties thickened around the fated army.

At length Burgoyne found himself at Saratoga. It was now October. Heavy

rains fell; provisions were growing scanty; the enemy was in great

force, and much emboldened by success. Gradually it became evident

that the British were surrounded, and that no hope of fighting their

way out remained. Night and day a circle of fire encompassed them.

Burgoyne called his officers together. They could find no place for

their sorrowful communing beyond reach of the enemy’s musketry, so

closely was the net already drawn. There was but one thing to do,

and it was done. The British army surrendered. Nearly six thousand

brave men, in sorrow and in shame, laid down their arms. The men who

took them were mere peasants, no two of whom were dressed alike. The

officers wore uncouth wigs, and most of them carried muskets and large

powder-horns slung around their shoulders. No humiliation like this had

ever befallen the British arms.

These grotesque American warriors behaved to their conquered enemies

with true nobility. General Gates, the American commander, kept his men

strictly within their lines, that they might not witness the piling

of the British arms. No taunt was offered, no look of disrespect was

directed against the fallen. “All were mute in astonishment and pity.”

England felt acutely the shame of this great disaster. Her people

were used to victory. For many years she had been fighting in Europe,

in India, in Canada, and always with brilliant success. Her defeat

in America was contrary to all expectation. It was a bitter thing

for a high-spirited people to hear that their veteran troops had

surrendered to a crowd of half-armed peasantry. Under the depressing

influence of this calamity it was determined to redress the wrongs of

America. Parliament abandoned all claim to tax the colonies. Every

vexatious enactment would be repealed; all would be forgiven, if

America would return to her allegiance. Commissioners were sent bearing

the olive-branch to Congress. Too late--altogether too late! Never

more can America be a dependency of England. With few words Congress

peremptorily declined the English overtures. America had chosen her

course; for good or for evil she would follow it to the end.

CHAPTER XI.

HELP FROM EUROPE.

A great war may be very glorious, but it is also very miserable. Twenty

thousand Englishmen had already perished in this war. [Sidenote: 1778

A.D.] Trade languished, and among the working-classes there was want

of employment and consequent want of food. American cruisers swarmed

upon the sea, and inflicted enormous losses upon English commerce. The

debt of the country increased. And for all these evils there was no

compensation. There was not even the poor satisfaction of success in

our unprofitable undertaking.

If it was any comfort to inflict even greater miseries than she

endured, England did not fight in vain. The sufferings of America were

very lamentable. The loss of life in battle and by disease, resulting

from want and exposure, had been great. The fields in many districts

were unsown. Trade was extinct; the trading classes were bankrupt.

English cruisers had annihilated the fisheries and seized the greater

part of the American merchant ships. Money had well-nigh disappeared

from the country. Congress issued paper-money, which proved a very

indifferent substitute. The public had so little confidence in the

new currency, that Washington declared, “A waggon-load of money will

scarcely purchase a waggon-load of provisions.”

But the war went on. It was not for England, with her high place among

the nations, to retire defeated from an enterprise on which she had

deliberately entered. As for the Americans, after they had declared

their resolution to be independent, they could die, but they could not

yield.

The surrender of Burgoyne brought an important ally to the American

side. The gods help those who help themselves. So soon as America

proved that she was likely to conquer in the struggle, France offered

to come to her aid. France had always looked with interest on the war;

partly because she hated England, and partly because her pulses already

throbbed with that new life, whose misdirected energies produced, a few

years afterwards, results so lamentable. Even now a people contending

for their liberties awakened the sympathies of France. America had

sent three Commissioners--one of whom was Benjamin Franklin--to Paris,

to cultivate as opportunity offered the friendship of the French

Government. For a time they laboured without visible results. But when

news came that Burgoyne and his army had surrendered, hesitation was at

an end. A treaty was signed by which France and America engaged to make

common cause against England. The King opposed this treaty so long as

he dared, but he was forced to give way. England, of course, accepted

it as a declaration of war.

Spain could not miss the opportunity of avenging herself upon England.

Her King desired to live at peace, he said, and to see his neighbours

do the same. But he was profoundly interested in the liberties of the

young Republic, and he was bound by strong ties to his good brother

of France. Above all, England had in various quarters of the world

grievously wronged him, by violating his territory and interfering

with the trade of his subjects. And so he deemed it proper that he

should waste the scanty substance of his people in equipping fleets

and armies. When his preparations were complete he joined France and

America in the league, and declared war against England.

The fleets of France and Spain appeared in the English Channel, and

England had to face the perils of invasion. The spirit of her people

rose nobly to meet the impending trial. The southern counties were

one great camp. Voluntary contributions from all parts of the country

aided Government to equip ships and soldiers. The King was to head his

warlike people, should the enemy land, and share their danger and their

glory. But the black cloud rolled harmlessly away, and the abounding

heroism of the people was not further evoked. The invading admirals

quarrelled. One of them wished to land at once; the other wished first

to dispose of the English fleet. They could not agree upon a course,

and therefore they sailed away home each to his own country, having

effected nothing.

The war spread itself over a very wide surface. In the north, Paul

Jones with three American ships alarmed the Scotch coast and destroyed

much shipping. Spain besieged Gibraltar, but failed to regain that

much-coveted prize. On the African coast, the French took Senegal

from the English, and the English took Goree from the French. In the

West Indies, the French took St. Vincent and Granada. On the American

Continent, from New York to Savannah, the same wasteful and bloody

labour was ruthlessly pursued.

The remaining years of the war were distinguished by few striking

or decisive enterprises. The fleet sent by France sailed hither and

thither in a feeble manner, accomplishing nothing. When General

Howe was made aware of its approach, he abandoned Philadelphia and

retired to New York. Washington followed him on his retreat, but

neither then nor for some time afterwards could effect much. Congress

and the American people formed sanguine expectations of the French

alliance, and ceased to put forth the great efforts which distinguished

the earlier period of the war. The English overran Georgia and

the Carolinas. The Americans captured two or three forts. The war

degenerated into a series of marauding expeditions. Some towns,

innumerable farm-houses, were burned by the English. Occasional

massacres took place. With increasing frequency, prisoners were, under

a variety of pretexts, put to death. On both sides feeling had become

intensely bitter. On both sides cruelties of a most savage type were

perpetrated.

To the very end Washington’s army was miserably supplied, and endured

extreme hardships. Congress was a weak, and, it must be added, a very

unwise body. The ablest men were in the army, and Congress was composed

of twenty or thirty persons of little character or influence. They had

no authority to impose taxes. They tried to borrow money in Europe, and

failed. They had only one resource--the issue of paper currency, and

this was carried to such a wild excess that latterly a colonel’s pay

would not buy oats for his horse. Washington ceased to have the means

of purchasing. Reluctantly, and under pressure of extreme necessity, he

forcibly exacted supplies of meat and flour from the neighbourhood. Not

otherwise could he save his army from dissolution and the country from

ruin.

But there was one respect in which the cause grew constantly in

strength. Men do not fight for eight years, in a war like this, without

learning to hate each other. With a deep and deadly hatred the American

people hated the power which ruthlessly inflicted upon them such cruel

sufferings. Under the growing influence of this hatred, men became

soldiers with increasing alacrity. The hardships of soldier-life

no longer daunted them, so long as they had the English to resist.

The trouble of short enlistments had ceased, and Washington was at

length at the head of an army, often ill fed and always ill clad, but

disciplined and invincibly resolved that their country should be free.

CHAPTER XII.

MAJOR ANDRÉ.

The Americans had a strong fortress at West Point, on the Hudson

river. It was one of the most important places in the country, and its

acquisition was anxiously desired by the English. Possession of West

Point would have given them command of the Hudson, up which their ships

of war could have sailed for more than a hundred miles. But that fort,

sitting impregnably on rocks two hundred feet above the level of the

river, was hard to win; and the Americans were careful to garrison

effectively a position so vitally important.

In the American army was an officer named Arnold, who had served, not

without distinction, from the beginning of the war. He had fought

in Canada when the Americans unsuccessfully invaded that province.

His courage and skill had been conspicuous in the engagements which

led to the surrender of Burgoyne. He was, however, a vain, reckless,

unscrupulous person. He had by extravagance in living involved himself

in debt, which he aggravated hopelessly by ill-judged mercantile

speculations. He had influence with Washington to obtain the command of

West Point. There is little doubt that when he sought the appointment

it was with the full intention of selling that important fortress to

the enemy. He opened negotiations at once with Sir Henry Clinton, then

in command of the English army at New York.

Clinton sent Major André to arrange the terms of the contemplated

treachery. A mournful interest attaches to the name of this young

officer: the fate which befell him was so very sad. He was of French

descent--high-spirited, accomplished, affectionate, merry-hearted. It

was a service which a high-principled man would scarcely have coveted.

But André desired eagerly to have the merit of gaining West Point, and

he volunteered for this perilous enterprise.

[Sidenote: Sept. 1780 A.D.] At midnight Major André landed from the

boat of a British ship of war, at a lonely place where Arnold waited

him. Their conference lasted so long that it was deemed unsafe for

André to return to the ship. He was conducted to a place of concealment

within the American lines, to await the return of darkness. He

completed his arrangement with Arnold, and received drawings of the

betrayed fortress. His mission was now accomplished. The ship from

which he had come lay full in view. Would that he could reach her!

But difficulties arose, and it was resolved that he must ride to New

York, a distance of fifty miles. Disguising himself as he best could,

André reluctantly accepted this very doubtful method of escape from his

fearful jeopardy.

Within the American lines he had some narrow escapes, but the pass

given by Arnold carried him through. He was at length beyond the lines.

His danger might now be considered at an end, and he rode cheerfully on

his lonely journey. He was crossing a small stream--thick woods on his

right hand and his left enhanced the darkness of the night. Three armed

men stepped suddenly from among the trees and ordered him to stand.

From the dress of one of them, André thought he was among friends.

He hastened to tell them he was a British officer, on very special

business, and he must not be detained. Alas for poor Major André, they

were not friends; and the dress which deceived him had been given to

the man who wore it when he was a prisoner with the English, in place

of a better garment of which his captors had stripped him.

André was searched; but at first nothing was found. It seemed as

if he might yet be allowed to proceed, when one of the three men

exclaimed, “Boys, I am not satisfied. His boots must come off.” André’s

countenance fell. His boots were searched, and Arnold’s drawings of

West Point were discovered. The men knew then that he was a spy. He

vainly offered them money; they were incorruptible. He was taken to

the nearest military station, and the tidings were at once sent to

Washington, who chanced to be then at West Point. Arnold had timely

intimation of the disaster, and fled for refuge to a British ship of

war.

André was tried by a court formed of officers of the American army.

He gave a frank and truthful account of his part in the unhappy

transaction--bringing into due prominence the circumstance that he

was brought, without intention or knowledge on his part, within

the American lines. The court judged him on his own statement, and

condemned him to be hanged as a spy.

His capture and sentence caused deep sensation in the English army, and

every effort was made to save him. But Washington was resolute that he

should die. The danger to the patriot cause had been too great to leave

any place for relenting. There were dark intimations of other treasons

yet unrevealed. It was needful to give emphatic warning of the perils

which waited on such unlawful negotiations. André begged that he might

be allowed to die a soldier’s death. Even this poor boon was refused to

the unhappy young man. Since the awful lesson must be given, Washington

considered that no circumstance fitted to enhance its terrors should be

withheld. But this was mercifully concealed from André to the very last.

Ten days after his arrest, André was led forth to die. He was under

the impression that his last request had been granted, and that he

would die by the bullet. It was a fresh pang when the gibbet, with its

ghastly preparations, stood before him. “How hard is my fate,” he said;

“but it will soon be over.” He bandaged his own eyes; with his own

hands adjusted the noose to his neck. The cart on which he stood moved

away, and poor Major André was no longer in the world of living men.

Forty years afterwards his remains were brought home to England and

laid in Westminster Abbey.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CLOSE OF THE WAR.

During the later years of the war the English kept possession of the

Southern States, which, as we have seen, they had gained so easily.

[Sidenote: 1781 A.D.] When the last campaign opened, Lord Cornwallis

with a strong force represented British authority in the South, and did

all that he found possible for the suppression of the patriots. But

the time was past when any real progress in that direction could be

made. A certain vigorous and judicious General Greene, with such rough

semblance of an army as he could draw together, gave Lord Cornwallis

many rude shocks. The English gained little victories occasionally,

but they suffered heavy losses, and the territory over which they held

dominion was upon the whole becoming smaller.

About midsummer, the joyous news reached Washington that a powerful

French fleet, with an army on board, was about to sail for America.

With this reinforcement, Washington had it in his power to deliver

a blow which would break the strength of the enemy, and hasten the

close of the war. Clinton held New York, and Cornwallis was fortifying

himself in Yorktown. The French fleet sailed for the Chesapeake, and

Washington decided in consequence that his attack should be made on

Lord Cornwallis. With all possible secrecy and speed the American

troops were moved southwards to Virginia. They were joined by the

French, and they stood before Yorktown a force twelve thousand strong.

Cornwallis had not expected them, and he called on Clinton to aid him.

But it was too late. He was already in a grasp from which there was no

escaping.

Throughout the war, the weakness of his force often obliged Washington

to adopt a cautious and defensive policy, which grievously disappointed

the expectations of his impatient countrymen. It is not therefore to

be imagined that his leadership was wanting in vigour. Within his calm

and well-balanced mind there lurked a fiery energy, ready to burst

forth when occasion required. The siege of Yorktown was pushed on

with extraordinary vehemence. The English, as their wont is, made a

stout defence, and strove by desperate sallies to drive the assailants

from their works. But in a few days the defences of Yorktown lay in

utter ruin, beaten to the ground by the powerful artillery of the

Americans. The English guns were silenced; the English shipping was

fired by red-hot shot from the French batteries. Ammunition began to

grow scarce. The place could not be held much longer, and Clinton still

delayed his coming. Lord Cornwallis must either force his way out and

escape to the North, or surrender. One night he began to embark his men

in order to cross the York river and set out on his desperate march to

New York; but a violent storm arose and scattered his boats. The men

who had embarked got back with difficulty, under fire from the American

batteries. All hope was now at an end. In about a fortnight from the

opening of the siege, the British army, eight thousand strong, laid

down its arms.

The joy of America over this great crowning success knew no bounds. One

highly emotional patriot was said to have expired from mere excess of

rapture. Some others lost their reason. In the army, all who were under

arrest were at once set at liberty. A day of solemn thanksgiving was

proclaimed and devoutly observed throughout the rejoicing States.

[Sidenote: 1782 A.D.] Well might the colonists rejoice, for their

long and bitter struggle was now about to close. Stubborn King George

would not yield yet. But England and her Parliament were sick of this

hopeless and inglorious war. The House of Commons voted that all who

should advise the continuance of the war were enemies to the country.

A new Ministry was formed, and negotiations with a view to peace were

begun. The King had no doubt that if America were allowed to go, the

West Indies would go--Ireland would go--all his foreign possessions

would go; and discrowned England would sink into weakness and contempt.

But too much heed had already been given to the King and his fancies.

[Sidenote: Jan. 20, 1783 A.D.] Peace was concluded with France and

Spain, and the independence of America was at length recognized.

* * * * *

Eight years had passed since the first blood was shed at Lexington.

Thus long the unyielding English, unused to failure, had striven to

regain the lost ascendency. Thus long the colonists had borne the

miseries of invasion, not shaken in their faith that the independence

which they had undertaken to win was well worth all it cost them. And

now they were free, and England was the same to them as all the rest

of the world,--“in peace, a friend; in war, a foe.” They had little

left them but their liberty and their soil. They had been unutterably

devastated by those eight bloody years. Their fields had been wasted;

their towns had been burned; commerce was extinct; money had almost

disappeared from the country. Their public debt reached the large

sum of one hundred and seventy million dollars. The soldiers who had

fought out the national independence were not paid till they showed

some disposition to compel a settlement. There was nothing which

could be called a Government. There were thirteen sovereign States,

loosely knit together by a Congress. That body had power to discuss

questions affecting the general good; to pass resolutions; to request

the several States to give effect to these resolutions. The States

might or might not comply with such request. Habitually they did not,

especially when money was asked for. Congress had no power to tax. It

merely apportioned among the States the amounts required for the public

service, and each State was expected to levy a tax for its proportion.

But in point of fact it became utterly impossible to get money by this

process.

[Sidenote: 1786 A.D.] Great hardships were endured by the labouring

population. The impatience of a suffering people expressed itself

in occasional sputterings of insurrection. Two thousand men of

Massachusetts rose in arms to demand that the collection of debts

should be suspended. It was some weeks before that rising could be

quelled, as the community generally sympathized with the insurgents.

During four or five years the miseries of the ungoverned country seemed

to warrant the belief that her war of independence had been a mistake.

But a future of unparalleled magnificence lay before this sorely vexed

and discouraged people. The boundless corn-lands of the west, the

boundless cotton-fields of the south, waited to yield their wealth.

Pennsylvania held unimagined treasures of coal and iron--soon to be

evoked by the irresistible spell of patient industry. America was a

vast store-house, prepared by the Great Father against the time when

his children would have need of it. The men who are the stewards over

its opulence have now freed themselves from some entanglements and

hindrances which grievously diminished their efficiency, and stand

prepared to enter in good earnest upon that high industrial vocation to

which Providence has called them.

There had been periods during the war when confidence in Washington’s

leadership was shaken. He sustained many reverses. He oftentimes

retreated. He adhered tenaciously to a defensive policy, when

Congress and people were burning with impatience to inflict crushing

defeat upon the foe. The deplorable insufficiency of his resources

was overlooked, and the blame of every disaster fell on him. And

when at length the cause began to prosper, and hope brightened into

triumph, timid people were apt to fear that Washington was growing

too powerful. He had become the idol of a great army. He had but to

signify his readiness to accept a throne, and his soldiers would have

crowned him King. It was usual in the revolutions of the world that a

military chief should grasp at supreme power; and so it was feared that

Washington was to furnish one example more of that lawless and vulgar

lust of power by which human history has been so largely dishonoured.

But Washington sheathed his sword, and returned gladly to his home

on the banks of the Potomac. He proposed to spend his days “in

cultivating the affections of good men, and in the practice of the

domestic virtues.” He hoped “to glide gently down the stream which

no human effort can ascend.” He occupied himself with the care of

his farm, and had no deeper feeling than thankfulness that he was at

length eased of a load of public care. The simple grandeur of his

character was now revealed beyond possibility of misconception. The

measure of American veneration for this greatest of all Americans was

full. Henceforth Mount Vernon was a shrine to which pilgrim feet were

ever turned--evoking such boundless love and reverence as never were

elsewhere exhibited on American soil.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE THIRTEEN STATES BECOME A NATION.

Washington saw from the beginning that his country was without a

government. Congress was a mere name. There were still thirteen

sovereign States--in league for the moment, but liable to be placed at

variance by the differences which time would surely bring. Washington

was satisfied that without a central government they could never be

powerful or respected. Such a government, indeed, was necessary in

order even to their existence. European powers would, in its absence,

introduce dissensions among them. Men’s minds would revert to that form

of government with which they were familiar. Some ambitious statesman

or soldier would make himself King, and the great experiment, based

upon the equality of rights, would prove an ignominious failure.

The more sagacious Americans shared Washington’s belief on this

question. Conspicuous among these was Alexander Hamilton--perhaps,

next to Washington, the greatest American of that age. Hamilton was a

brave and skilful soldier, a brilliant debater, a persuasive writer,

a wise statesman. In his nineteenth year he entered the army, at the

very beginning of the war. The quick eye of Washington discovered the

remarkable promise of the lad. He raised him to high command in the

army, and afterwards to high office in the government. It was Hamilton

who brought order out of the financial chaos which followed the war.

It was Hamilton who suggested the convention to consider the framing

of a new Constitution. Often, during the succeeding years, Hamilton’s

temperate and sagacious words calmed the storms which marked the

infancy of the great Republic. His career had a dark and bloody close.

[Sidenote: 1804 A.D.] In his forty-seventh year he stood face to face,

one bright July morning, with a savage politician named Aaron Burr--a

grandson of Jonathan Edwards the great divine. Burr had fastened a

quarrel upon him, in the hope of murdering him in a duel. Hamilton had

resolved not to fire. Burr fired with careful aim, and Hamilton fell,

wounded to death. One of the ablest men America has ever possessed was

thus lost to her.

[Sidenote: 1783 A.D.] Immediately after the close of the war, Hamilton

began to discuss the weakness of the existing form of government. He

was deeply convinced that the union of the States, in order to be

lasting, must be established on a solid basis; and his writings did

much to spread this conviction among his fellow-countrymen. Washington

never ceased from his retirement to urge the same views. Gradually the

urgent need of a better system was recognized. It indeed soon became

too obvious to be denied. Congress found it utterly impossible to get

money. Between 1781 and 1786, ten million dollars were called for from

the States, but only two million and a half were obtained. The interest

on the debt was unpaid; the ordinary expenses of the government were

unprovided for. The existing form of government was an acknowledged

failure. Something better had to be devised, or the tie which bound the

thirteen States would be severed.

[Sidenote: 1787 A.D.] Hamilton obtained the sanction of Congress to

his proposal that a convention of delegates from the several States

should be held. This convention was to review the whole subject of the

governing arrangement, and to recommend such alterations as should be

considered adequate to the exigencies of the time. Philadelphia, as

usual, was the place of meeting. Thither, in the month of May, came

the men who were charged with the weighty task of framing a government

under which the thirteen States should become a nation.

Fifty-five men composed this memorable council. Among them were the

wisest men of whom America, or perhaps any other country, could boast.

Washington himself presided. Benjamin Franklin brought to this--his

latest and his greatest task--the ripe experience of eighty-two years.

New York sent Hamilton--regarding whom Prince Talleyrand said, long

afterwards, that he had known nearly all the leading men of his time,

but he had never known one on the whole equal to Hamilton. With these

came many others whose names are held in enduring honour. Since the

meeting of that first Congress which pointed the way to independence,

America had seen no such Assembly.

The convention sat for four months. The great work which occupied

it divided the country into two parties. One party feared most the

evils which arise from weakness of the governing power, and sought

relief from these in a close union of the States under a strong

government. Another party dwelt more upon the miserable condition of

the over-governed nations of Europe, and feared the creation of a

government which might grow into a despotism. The aim of the one was

to vest the largest possible measure of power in a central government.

Hamilton, indeed--to whom the British Constitution seemed the most

perfect on earth--went so far as to desire that the States should

be merely great municipalities, attending only, like an English

corporation, to their own local concerns. The aim of the other was

to circumscribe the powers accorded to the general government--to

vindicate the sovereignty of the individual States, and give to it the

widest possible scope. These two sets of opinions continued to exist

and conflict for three-quarters of a century, till that which assigned

an undue dominion to what were called State Rights, perished in the

overthrow of the great Rebellion.

Slowly and through endless debate the convention worked out its plan

of a government. The scheme was submitted to Congress, and thence sent

down to the several States. Months of fiery discussion ensued. Somewhat

reluctantly, by narrow majorities, in the face of vehement protests,

the Constitution was at length adopted under which the thirteen States

were to become so great.

* * * * *

Great Britain has no written Constitution. She has her laws; and it

is expected that all future laws shall be in tolerable harmony with

the principles on which her past legislation has been founded. But if

Parliament were to enact, and the Sovereign to sanction, any law at

variance with these principles, there is no help for it. Queen, Lords,

and Commons are our supreme authority, from whose decisions there lies

no appeal. In America it is different. There the supreme authority is a

written Constitution. Congress may unanimously enact, and the President

may cordially sanction, a new law. Two or three judges, sitting in

the same building where Congress meets, may compare that law with the

Constitution. If it is found at variance with the Constitution, it

is unceremoniously declared to be no law, and entitled to no man’s

obedience. With a few alterations, this Constitution remains in full

force now--gathering around it, as it increases in age, the growing

reverence of the people. The men who framed it must have been very

wise. The people for whom it was framed must possess in high degree

the precious Anglo-Saxon veneration for law. Otherwise the American

paper Constitution must long ago have shared the fate of the numerous

documents of this class under which the French vainly sought rest

during their first Revolution.

Each of the thirteen States was sovereign, and the government of

America hitherto had been merely a league of independent powers. Now

the several States parted with a certain amount of their sovereignty,

and vested it in a General Government. The General Government was

to levy taxes, to coin money, to regulate commercial relations with

foreign countries, to establish post-offices and post-roads, to

establish courts of law, to declare war, to raise and maintain armies

and navies, to make treaties, to borrow money on the credit of the

United States. The individual States expressly relinquished the right

to perform these sovereign functions.

These powers were intrusted to two Houses of Legislation and a

President. The House of Representatives is composed of two hundred and

forty-three members. The members hold their seats for two years, and

are paid five thousand dollars annually. Black men and Indians were

not allowed to vote; but all white men had a voice in the election of

their representatives. To secure perfect equality of representation,

members are distributed according to population. Thus, in 1863 a member

was given to every 124,000 inhabitants. Every ten years a readjustment

takes place, and restores the equality which the growth of the

intervening period has disturbed.

The large States send necessarily a much larger number of members

to the Lower House than the small States do. Thus New York sends

thirty-one, while Rhode Island sends only two, Delaware and Florida

only one. The self-love of the smaller States was wounded by an

arrangement which resembled absorption into the larger communities. The

balance was redressed in the constitution of the Upper Chamber--the

Senate. That body is composed of seventy-six members, elected by the

legislatures of the States. Every State, large or small, returns two

members. The small States were overborne in the Lower House, but in the

Senate they enjoyed an importance equal to that of their most populous

neighbours. The senators are elected for six years, and are paid at the

same rate as the members of the House of Representatives.

The head of the American Government is the President. He holds office

for four years. Each State chooses a number of persons equal to the

total number of members whom it returns to the Houses of Legislation.

These persons elect the President. They elect also a Vice-President,

lest the President should be removed by death or otherwise during

his term of office. All laws enacted by Congress must be submitted

to the President. He may refuse to pass them--sending them back with

a statement of his objections. But should both Houses, by a vote of

two-thirds of their number, adhere to the rejected measures, they

become law in spite of the President’s veto. The President appoints

his own Cabinet Ministers, and these have no seats in Congress. Their

annual reports upon the affairs of their departments are communicated

to Congress by the President, along with his own Message. The President

is Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy. With concurrence of the

Senate, he appoints ambassadors, judges of the Supreme Court, and other

public officers.

Every State has a government after the same pattern, composed of

two Houses of Legislation and a Governor. These authorities occupy

themselves with the management of such affairs as exclusively concern

their own State, and have, therefore, not been relinquished to the

General Government. They legislate in regard to railway and other

public companies. They see to the administration of justice within

their own territory, unless in the case of crimes committed against

the Government. They pass such laws as are required in regard to

private property and rights of succession. Above all, they retained

all the powers of which they were ever possessed in regard to slavery.

The Constitution gave Congress authority to suppress the importation

of slaves after the year 1808. Not otherwise was the slave-question

interfered with. That remained wholly under the control of the

individual States.

But the men who framed this Constitution, however wise, were liable

to err. And if they were found in after years to have erred, what

provision--other than a revolution--was made for correcting their

mistakes? A very simple and very effective one. When two-thirds of

both Houses of Legislation deem it necessary that some amendment of

the Constitution should be made, they propose it to the legislatures

of the several States. When three-fourths of these judicatories adopt

the proposal, it becomes a part of the Constitution. There have been

in all fifteen amendments adopted, most of them very soon after the

Constitution itself came into existence.

* * * * *

And now the conditions of the great experiment are adjusted. Three

million Americans have undertaken to govern themselves. Europe does

not believe that any people can prosper in such an undertaking. Europe

still clings to the belief that, in every country, a few Heaven-sent

families must guide the destinies of the incapable, child-like

millions. America--having no faith in Heaven-sent families--believes

that the millions are the best and safest guides of their own

destinies, and means to act on that belief. On her success great issues

wait. If the Americans show that they can govern themselves, all the

other nations will gradually put their hands to the same ennobling work.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: 1789 A.D.] The first step to be taken under the new

Constitution was to elect a President. There was but one man who

was thought of for this high and untried office. George Washington

was unanimously chosen. Congress was summoned to meet in New York

on the 4th of March. But the members had to travel far on foot, or

on horseback. Roads were bad, bridges were few; streams, in that

spring-time, were swollen. It was some weeks after the appointed time

before business could be commenced.

That Congress had difficult work to do, and it was done patiently,

with much plain sense and honesty. As yet there was no revenue, while

everywhere there was debt. The General Government had debt, and each

of the States had debt. There was the Foreign Debt--due to France,

Holland, and Spain. There was the Army Debt--for arrears of pay and

pensions. There was the Debt of the Five Great Departments--for

supplies obtained during the war. There was a vast issue of paper money

to be redeemed. There were huge arrears of interest. And, on the other

hand, there was no provision whatever for these enormous obligations.

Washington, with a sigh, asked a friend, “What is to be done about

this heavy debt?” “There is but one man in America can tell you,” said

his friend, “and that is Alexander Hamilton.” Washington made Hamilton

Secretary to the Treasury. The success of his financial measures was

immediate and complete. “He smote the rock of the national resources,”

said Daniel Webster, “and abundant streams of revenue gushed forth.

He touched the dead corpse of the public credit, and it sprang upon

its feet.” All the war debts of the States were assumed by the General

Government. Efficient provision was made for the regular payment of

interest, and for a sinking fund to liquidate the principal. Duties

were imposed on shipping, on goods imported from abroad, and on

spirits manufactured at home. The vigour of the Government inspired

public confidence, and commerce began to revive. In a few years the

American flag was seen on every sea. The simple manufactures of the

country resumed their long interrupted activity. A National Bank

was established. Courts were set up, and judges were appointed. The

salaries of the President and the great functionaries were settled. A

home was chosen for the General Government on the banks of the Potomac;

where the capital of the Union was to supplant the little wooden

village--remote from the agitations which arise in the great centres

of population. Innumerable details connected with the establishment of

a new government were discussed and fixed. Novel as the circumstances

were, little of the work then done has required to be undone.

Succeeding generations of Americans have approved the wisdom of their

early legislators, and continue unaltered the arrangements which were

framed at the outset of the national existence.

* * * * *

Thirty years of peace succeeded the War of Independence. There were,

indeed, passing troubles with the Indians, ending always in the sharp

chastisement of those disagreeable savages. [Sidenote: 1804 A.D.] There

was an expedition against Tripoli, to avenge certain indignities which

the barbarians of that region had offered to American shipping. There

was a misunderstanding with the French Directory, which was carried to

a somewhat perilous extreme. [Sidenote: 1789 A.D.] A desperate fight

took place between a French frigate and an American frigate, resulting

in the surrender of the former. But these trivial agitations did not

disturb the profound tranquillity of the nation, or hinder its progress

in that career of prosperity on which it had now entered.

Washington was President during the first eight years of the

Constitution. [Sidenote: 1799 A.D.] He survived his withdrawal from

public life only three years, dying, after a few hours’ illness, in the

sixty-eighth year of his age. His countrymen mourned him with a sorrow

sincere and deep. Their reverence for him has not diminished with the

progress of the years. Each new generation of Americans catches up the

veneration--calm, intelligent, but profound--with which its fathers

regarded the blameless Chief. To this day there is an affectionate

watchfulness for opportunities to express the honour in which his name

is held. To this day the steamers which ply upon the Potomac strike

mournful notes upon the bell as they sweep past Mount Vernon, where

Washington spent the happiest days of his life, and where he died.

CHAPTER XV.

THE WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN.

America was well contented during many years to be merely a spectator

of the Great European War. In spite of some differences which had

arisen, she still cherished a kindly feeling towards France--her friend

in the old time of need. She had still a bitter hatred to England, her

tyrant, as she deemed, and her cruel foe. But her sympathies did not

regulate her policy. She had no call to avenge the dishonour offered

to royalty by the people of France. As little was it her business to

strengthen France against the indignation of outraged monarchs. Her

distance exempted her from taking any part in the bloody politics of

Europe, and she was able to look quietly on while the flames of war

consumed the nations of the Old World. Her ships enjoyed a monopoly.

She traded impartially with all the combatants. The energies of Europe

were taxed to the uttermost by a gigantic work of mutual destruction.

The Americans conveyed to the people thus unprofitably occupied the

foreign articles of which they stood in need, and made great gain of

their neighbours’ madness.

[Sidenote: 1806 A.D.] But the time came when France and England were

to put forth efforts more gigantic than before, to compass the ruin of

each other. England gave out a decree announcing that all the coasts

of France and her allies were in a state of blockade, and that any

vessels attempting to trade with the blockaded countries were liable

to seizure. At that time nearly all the Continent was in alliance with

France. Napoleon replied by declaring the British Isles in a state of

blockade. These decrees closed Europe against American vessels. Many

captures were made, especially by English cruisers. American merchants

suffered grievous losses, and loudly expressed their just wrath against

the wicked laws which wrought them so much evil.

There was another question out of which mischief arose. England has

always maintained that any person who has once been her subject

can never cease to be so. He may remove to another country; he may

become the citizen of another state. English law recognizes no

such transaction. England claims that the man is still an English

subject--entitled to the advantages of that relation, and bound

by its obligations. America, on the other hand, asserted that men

could lay down their original citizenship, and assume another--could

transfer their allegiance--could relinquish the privileges and absolve

themselves from the obligations which they inherited. The Englishmen

who settled on her soil were regarded by her as American citizens and

as nothing else.

Circumstances arose which bestowed dangerous importance upon these

conflicting doctrines. England at that time obtained sailors by

impressment. That is to say, she seized men who were engaged on board

merchant vessels, and compelled them to serve on board her ships of

war. It was a process second only to the slave-trade in its iniquity.

The service to which men were thus introduced could not but be hateful.

There was a copious desertion, as opportunity offered, and America was

the natural refuge. English ships of war claimed the right to search

American vessels for men who had deserted; and also for men who, as

born English subjects, were liable to be impressed. It may well be

believed that this right was not always exercised with a strict regard

to justice. It was not always easy to distinguish an Englishman from

an American. Perhaps the English captains were not very scrupulous as

to the evidence on which they acted. The Americans asserted that six

thousand men, on whom England had no shadow of claim, were ruthlessly

carried off to fight under a flag they hated; the English Government

admitted the charge to the extent of sixteen hundred men. The American

people vehemently resented the intolerable pretension of England.

Occasionally an American ship resisted it, and blood was freely shed.

[Sidenote: 1807 A.D.] When England and France decreed the closing of

all European ports against commerce, America hastened to show that she

could be as unwise as her neighbours. Congress prohibited commerce with

the European powers which had so offended. The people, wiser than their

rulers, disapproved this measure; but the Government enforced it. The

President was empowered to call out militia and employ armed vessels

to prevent cargoes of American produce from leaving the country. It

was hoped that England and France, thus bereaved of articles which

were deemed necessary, would be constrained to repeal their injurious

decrees.

Thus for four years commerce was suspended, and grass grew on the idle

wharves of New York and Philadelphia. The cotton and tobacco of the

Southern States, the grain and timber of the North, were stored up to

await the return of reason to the governing powers of the world. Tens

of thousands of working people were thrown idle. The irritation of the

impoverished nation was fast ripening towards war.

America wanted now the wise leadership which she enjoyed at the period

of her revolutionary struggle. Washington had never ceased to urge

upon his countrymen the desirableness of being on good terms with

England. But Washington was dead, and his words were not remembered.

Franklin was dead, Hamilton had fallen by the murdering hand of Aaron

Burr. There was a strong party eager for war. The commercial towns on

the sea-board dreaded the terrible ships of England, and desired to

negotiate for redress of grievances. The people of the interior, having

no towns to be bombarded, preferred to try their strength with England

in battle. Some attempts at negotiation resulted in failure. [Sidenote:

June 18, 1812 A.D.] At length Congress ended suspense by passing a Bill

which declared war against Great Britain.

It was a bolder challenge than America supposed it to be. England,

indeed, had her hands full, for the power of her great foe seemed to be

irresistible. But even then the axe was laid to its roots. In that same

month of June Napoleon crossed the river Niemen and entered Russia upon

his fatal march to Moscow. A few weeks before, the Duke of Wellington

had wrenched from his grasp the two great frontier fortresses of Spain,

and was now beginning to drive the French armies out of the Peninsula.

England would soon have leisure for her new assailant; but all this was

as yet unseen.

When war was declared, England possessed one thousand ships of war, and

America possessed twenty. Their land forces were in like proportion.

England had nearly a million of men under arms. America had an army

reckoned at twenty-four thousand, many of them imperfectly disciplined

and not yet to be relied upon in the field. Her treasury was empty. She

was sadly wanting in officers of experience. She had declared war, but

it was difficult to see what she could do in the way of giving effect

to her hostile purposes.

But she held to these purposes with unfaltering tenacity. Four days

after Congress had resolved to fight, England repealed those blockading

decrees which had so justly offended the Americans. There remained

now only the question of the right of search. The British Minister at

Washington proposed that an attempt should be made to settle peaceably

this sole remaining ground of quarrel. The proposal was declined. The

American war party would not swerve from its unhappy determination.

The first efforts of the Americans were signally unsuccessful. They

attacked Canada with an army of two thousand five hundred men. But this

force had scarcely got upon Canadian ground when it was driven back.

[Sidenote: August, 1812 A.D.] It was besieged in Fort Detroit by an

inferior British army and forced to surrender. The unfortunate General

Hull, who commanded, was brought to trial by his angry countrymen and

sentenced to be shot. He was pardoned, however, in consideration of

former services.

A second invasion followed, closed by a second surrender. During

two other campaigns the Americans prosecuted their invasion. Ships

were built and launched upon the great lakes which lie between the

territories of the combatants. Sea-fights were fought, in one of which

the American triumph was so complete that all the British vessels

surrendered. Many desperate engagements took place on shore. Some

forts were captured; some towns were burned. Many women and children

were made homeless; many brave men were slain. But the invaders made

no progress. Everywhere the Canadians, with the help of the regular

troops, were able to hold their own. It was a coarse method of solving

the question which was in dispute between the countries, and it was

utterly fruitless.

At sea a strange gleam of good fortune cheered the Americans. It was

there England felt herself omnipotent. She, with her thousand ships,

might pardonably despise the enemy who came against her with twenty.

But it was there disaster overtook her.

[Sidenote: 1812 A.D.] During the autumn months a series of encounters

took place between single British and American ships. In every instance

victory remained with the Americans. Five English vessels were taken or

destroyed. The Americans were in most of these engagements more heavily

manned and armed than their enemies. But the startling fact remained.

Five British ships of war had been taken in battle by the Americans;

five defeats had been sustained by England. Her sovereignty of the sea

had received a rude shock.

The loss of a great battle would not have moved England more profoundly

than the capture of these five unimportant ships. It seemed to many

to foretell the downfall of her maritime supremacy. She had ruled the

seas because, heretofore, no other country produced sailors equal to

hers. But a new power had now arisen, whose home, equally with that of

Britannia herself, was upon the deep. If America could achieve these

startling successes while she had only twenty ships, what might she not

accomplish with that ampler force which she would hereafter possess?

England had many enemies, all of whom rejoiced to see in these defeats

the approaching decay of her envied greatness.

* * * * *

Among English sailors there was a burning eagerness to wipe out

the unlooked-for disgrace which had fallen upon the flag. A strict

blockade of American ports was maintained. On board the English ships

which cruised on the American coasts impatient search was made for

opportunities of retrieving the honour of the service.

Two English ships lay off Boston in the summer of 1813, under the

command of Captain Broke. Within the bay the American frigate

_Chesapeake_ had lain for many months. Captain Broke had bestowed

especial pains upon the training of his men, and he believed he had

made them a match for any equal force. He and they vehemently desired

to test their prowess in battle. He sent away one of his ships,

retaining only the _Shannon_, which was slightly inferior to the

_Chesapeake_ in guns and in men. And then he stood close in to the

shore, and sent to Captain Lawrence of the _Chesapeake_ an invitation

to come forth that they might “try the fortune of their respective

flags.”

From his mast-head Captain Broke watched anxiously the movements of

the hostile ship. Soon he saw her canvas shaken out to the breeze. His

challenge was accepted. The stately _Chesapeake_ moved slowly down the

bay, attended by many barges and pleasure-boats. To the over-sanguine

men of Boston it seemed that Captain Lawrence sailed out to assured

victory. They crowded to house-top and hill to witness his success.

They prepared a banquet to celebrate his triumphant return.

[Sidenote: June 1, 1813 A.D.] Slowly and in grim silence the

hostile ships drew near. No shot was fired till they were within a

stone’s-throw of each other, and the men in either could look into

the faces of those they were about to destroy. Then began the horrid

carnage of a sea-fight. The well-trained British fired with steady

aim, and every shot told. The rigging of their enemy was speedily

ruined; her stern was beaten in; her decks were swept by discharges of

heavy guns loaded with musket-balls. The American firing was greatly

less effective. After a few broadsides, the ships came into contact.

The _Shannon_ continued to fire grape-shot from two of her guns. The

_Chesapeake_ could now reply feebly, and only with musketry. Captain

Broke prepared to board. Over decks heaped with slain and slippery with

blood, the Englishmen sprang upon the yielding foe. The American flag

was pulled down, and resistance ceased.

The fight lasted but a quarter of an hour. So few minutes ago the two

ships, peopled by seven hundred men in the pride of youth and strength,

sailed proudly over seas which smiled in the peaceful sunlight of that

summer evening. Now their rigging lies in ruins upon the cumbered

decks; their sides are riven by shot; seventy-one dead bodies wait to

be thrown overboard; one hundred and fifty-seven men lie wounded and in

anguish--some of them to die, some to recover and live out cheerless

lives, till the grave opens for their mutilated and disfigured forms.

Did these men hate each other with a hatred so intense that they could

do no less than inflict these evils upon each other? They had no

hatred at all. Their Governments differed, and this was their method

of ascertaining who was in the right! Surely men will one day be wise

enough to adopt some process for the adjustment of differences less

wild in its inaccuracy, less brutish in its cruelty than this.

This victory, so quickly won and so decisive, restored the confidence

of England in her naval superiority. The war went on with varying

fortune. The Americans, awakening to the greatness of the necessity,

put forth vigorous efforts to increase both army and navy. Frequent

encounters between single ships occurred. Sometimes the American ship

captured or destroyed the British; more frequently now the British ship

captured or destroyed the American. The superb fighting capabilities of

the race were splendidly illustrated, but no results of a more solid

character can be enumerated.

[Sidenote: 1814 A.D.] Meanwhile momentous changes had occurred in

Europe. Napoleon had been overthrown, and England was enjoying the

brief repose which his residence in Elba afforded. She could bestow

some attention now upon her American quarrel. Several regiments of

Wellington’s soldiers were sent to America, under the command of

General Ross, and an attack upon Washington was determined. The force

at General Ross’s disposal was only three thousand five hundred men.

With means so inconsiderable, it seemed rash to attack the capital

of a great nation. But the result proved that General Ross had not

under-estimated the difficulties of the enterprise.

The Americans utterly failed in the defence of their capital. They

were forewarned of the attack, and had good time to prepare. The

militia of Pennsylvania and Virginia had promised their services, but

were not found when they were needed. Only seven thousand men could

be drawn together to resist the advance of the English. These took

post at Bladensburg, where there was a bridge over the Potomac. The

English were greatly less numerous, but they were veterans who had

fought under Wellington in many battles. To them it was play to rout

the undisciplined American levies. They dashed upon the enemy, who,

scarcely waiting to fire a shot, broke and fled towards Washington in

hopeless confusion.

That same evening the British marched quietly into Washington. General

Ross had orders to destroy or hold to ransom all public buildings.

He offered to spare the national property, if a certain sum of money

were paid to him; but the authorities declined his proposal. Next day

a great and most unjustifiable ruin was wrought. The Capitol, the

President’s residence, the Government offices, even the bridge over the

Potomac--all were destroyed. The Navy-yard and Arsenal, with some ships

in course of building, were set on fire by the Americans themselves.

The President’s house was pillaged by the soldiers before it was

burned. These devastations were effected in obedience to peremptory

orders from the British Government, on whom rests the shame of

proceedings so reprehensible and so unusual in the annals of civilized

war. On the same day the British withdrew from the ruins of the burning

capital, and retired towards the coast.

The Americans were becoming weary of this unmeaning war. Hope of

success there was none, now that Britain had no other enemy to engage

her attention. America had no longer a ship of war to protect her

coasts from insult. Her trade was extinct. Her exports, which were

fourteen million sterling before the war, had sunk to one-tenth of that

amount. Two-thirds of the trading classes were insolvent. Most of the

trading ships were taken. The revenue hitherto derived from customs had

utterly ceased. The credit of the country was not good, and loans could

not be obtained. Taxation became very oppressive, and thus enhanced

extremely the unpopularity of the war. Some of the New England States

refused to furnish men or money, and indicated a disposition to make

peace for themselves, if they could not obtain it otherwise.

[Sidenote: Feb. 11, 1815 A.D.] Peace was urgently needed, and happily

was near at hand. Late one Saturday night a British sloop-of-war

arrived at New York bearing a treaty of peace, already ratified by

the British Government. The cry of “Peace! peace!” rang through the

gladdened streets. The city burst into spontaneous illumination. The

news reached Boston on Monday morning, and Boston was almost beside

herself with joy. A multitude of idle ships had long lain at her

wharves. Before night carpenters were at work making them ready to

go to sea. Sailors were engaged; cargoes were being passed on board.

Boston returned without an hour’s delay to her natural condition of

commercial activity.

British and American Commissioners had met at Ghent, and had agreed

upon terms of peace. The fruitlessness of war is a familiar discovery

when men have calmness to review its losses and its gains. Both

countries had endured much during these three years of hostilities;

and now the peace left as they had been before the questions whose

settlement was the object of the war.

[Sidenote: 1814 A.D.] The treaty was concluded on the 24th December.

Could the news have been flashed by telegraph across the Atlantic, much

brave life would have been saved. But seven weeks elapsed before it was

known in the southern parts of America that the two countries were at

peace. And meanwhile one of the bloodiest fights of the war had been

fought.

New Orleans--a town of nearly twenty thousand inhabitants--was then, as

it is now, one of the great centres of the cotton trade, and commanded

the navigation of the Mississippi. The capture of a city so important

could not fail to prove a heavy blow to America. An expedition for

this purpose was organized. Just when the Commissioners at Ghent were

felicitating themselves upon the peace they had made, the British army,

in storm and intolerable cold, was being rowed on shore within a few

miles of New Orleans.

Sir Edward Pakenham, one of the heroes of the Peninsula, commanded

the English. The defence of New Orleans was intrusted to General

Jackson. Jackson had been a soldier from his thirteenth year, and had

spent a youth of extraordinary hardship. He was now a strong-willed,

experienced, and skilful leader, in whom his soldiers had boundless

confidence. Pakenham, fresh from the triumphs of the Peninsula, looked

with mistaken contempt upon his formidable enemy.

Jackson’s line of defence was something over half a mile in length. The

Mississippi covered his right flank, an impassable swamp and jungle

secured his left. Along his front ran a deep broad ditch, topped by a

massive wall of earth. In this strong position the Americans waited the

coming of the enemy.

[Sidenote: 1815 A.D.] At daybreak on the 8th January the British, six

thousand strong, made their attack. The dim morning light revealed to

the Americans the swift advance of the red-coated host. A murderous

fire of grape and round shot was opened from the guns mounted on the

bastion. Brave men fell fast, but the assailants passed on through the

storm and reached the American works. It was their design to scale

the ramparts, and, once within, to trust to their bayonets, which had

never deceived them yet. But at the foot of the ramparts it was found

that the fascines and scaling-ladders, which had been prepared for the

assault, were now amissing! The men mounted on each other’s shoulders,

and thus some of them forced their way into the works, only to be shot

down by the American riflemen. All was vain. A deadly fire streamed

incessant from that fatal parapet upon the defenceless men below. Sir

Edward Pakenham fell mortally wounded. The carnage was frightful, and

the enterprise visibly hopeless. The troops were withdrawn in great

confusion, having sustained a loss of two thousand men. The Americans

had seven men killed and the same number wounded.

Thus closed the war. Both countries look with just pride upon the

heroic courage so profusely displayed in battle, and upon the patient

endurance with which great sacrifices were submitted to. It is pity

these high qualities did not find a more worthy field for their

exercise. The war was a gigantic folly and wickedness, such as no

future generation, we may venture to hope, will ever repeat.

* * * * *

On the Fourth of July 1826 all America kept holiday. On that day, fifty

years before, the Declaration of Independence was signed, and America

began her great career as a free country. Better occasion for jubilee

the world has seldom known. The Americans must needs do honour to the

Fathers of their Independence, most of whom have already passed away;

two of whom--John Adams and Thomas Jefferson--died on this very day.

They must pause and look back upon this amazing half century. The world

had never seen growth so rapid. There were three million of Americans

who threw off the British yoke; now there were twelve million. The

thirteen States had increased to twenty-four. The territory of the

Union had been prodigiously enlarged. [Sidenote: 1803 A.D.] Louisiana

had been sold by France; [Sidenote: 1820 A.D.] Florida had been ceded

by Spain. Time after time tribes of vagrant Indians yielded up their

lands and enrolled themselves subjects of the Great Republic. The Gulf

of Mexico now bounded the Union on the south, and the lakes which

divide her from Canada on the north. From the Atlantic on the east, she

already looked out upon the Pacific on the west. Canals had been cut

leading from the great lakes to the Hudson, and the grain which grew on

the corn-lands of the west, thousands of miles away, was brought easily

to New York. Innumerable roads had been made. The debt incurred in

the War of Independence had been all paid; and the still heavier debt

incurred in the second war with England was being rapidly extinguished.

A steady tide of emigration flowed westward. Millions of acres of

the fertile wilderness which lay towards the setting sun had been at

length made profitable to mankind. Extensive manufactories had been

established, in which cotton and woollen fabrics were produced. The

foreign trade of the country amounted to forty million sterling.

The Marquis Lafayette, now an old man, came to see once more before he

died the country he had helped to save, and took part with wonder in

the national rejoicing. The poor colonists, for whose liberties he had

fought, had already become a powerful and wealthy nation. Everywhere

there had been expansion. Everywhere there were comfort and abundance.

Everywhere there were boundless faith in the future, and a vehement,

unresting energy, which would surely compel the fulfilment of any

expectations, however vast.

Book Third

CHAPTER I.

KING COTTON.

When Europeans first visited the southern parts of America, they found

in abundant growth there a plant destined to such eminence in the

future history of the world as no other member of the vegetable family

ever attained. It was an unimportant-looking plant, two or three feet

in height, studded with pods somewhat larger than a walnut. In the

appropriate season these pods opened, revealing a wealth of soft white

fibre, embedded in which lay the seeds of the plant. This was Cotton.

It was not unknown to the Old World, for the Romans used cotton fabrics

before the Christian era. India did so from a still remoter period. But

the extent to which its use had been carried was trivial. Men clothed

themselves as they best might in linen or woollen cloth, or simply

in the skins of the beasts which they slew. The time was now at hand

when an ampler provision for their wants was to be disclosed to them.

Socially and politically, cotton has deeply influenced the course of

human affairs. The mightiest conquerors sink into insignificance in

presence of King Cotton.

The English began to cultivate a little cotton very soon after their

settlement in America. But it was a difficult crop for them to handle.

The plants grew luxuriantly, and when autumn came the opening pods

revealed a most satisfying opulence. The quantity of cotton produced

excited the wonder of the planters. But the seeds of the plant adhered

tenaciously to the fibre. Before the fibre could be used the seeds had

to be removed, and this was a slow and therefore a costly process. It

was as much as a man could do in a day to separate one pound of cotton

from the seeds. Cotton could never be abundant or cheap while this was

the case.

But in course of time things came to pass in England which made it

indispensable that cotton should be both abundant and cheap. In 1768

Richard Arkwright invented a machine for spinning cotton vastly

superior to anything hitherto in use. Next year a greater than

he--James Watt--announced a greater invention--his Steam Engine.

England was ready now to begin her great work of weaving cotton for the

world. But where was the cotton to be found?

Three or four years before Watt patented his Engine, and Arkwright

his Spinning-frame, there was born in a New England farm-house a boy

whose work was needed to complete theirs. His name was Eli Whitney.

Eli was a born mechanic; it was a necessity of his nature to invent

and construct. As a mere boy he made nails, pins, and walking-canes by

novel processes, and thus earned money to support himself at college.

In 1792 he went to Georgia to visit Mrs. Greene, the widow of that

General Greene who so troubled Lord Cornwallis in the closing years

of the War of Independence. In that primitive society, where few of

the comforts of civilized life were yet enjoyed, no visits were so

like those of the angels as the visits of a skilful mechanic. Eli

constructed marvellous amusements for Mrs. Greene’s children. He

overcame all household difficulties by some ingenious contrivance. Mrs.

Greene learned to wonder at him, and to believe nothing was impossible

for him. One day Mrs. Greene entertained a party of her neighbours.

The conversation turned upon the sorrows of the Planter. That unhappy

tenacity with which the seeds of cotton adhered to the fibre was

elaborately bemoaned. With an urgent demand from England for cotton,

with boundless lands which grew nothing so well as cotton, it was hard

to be so utterly baffled.

Mrs. Greene had unlimited faith in her friend Eli. She begged him to

invent a machine which should separate the seeds of cotton from the

fibre. Eli was of Northern upbringing, and had never even seen cotton

in seed. He walked to Savannah, and there, with some trouble, obtained

a quantity of uncleaned cotton. He shut himself up in his room and

brooded over the difficulty which he had undertaken to conquer.

All that winter Eli laboured--devising, hammering, building up,

rejecting, beginning afresh. He had no help; he could not even get

tools to buy, but had to make them with his own hands. At length his

machine was completed--rude-looking, but visibly effective. Mrs. Greene

invited the leading men of the State to her house. She conducted them

in triumph to the building in which the machine stood. The owners of

unprofitable cotton lands looked on with a wild flash of hope lighting

up their desponding hearts. Possibilities of untold wealth to each of

them lay in that clumsy structure. The machine was put in motion. It

was evident to all that it could perform the work of hundreds of men.

Eli had gained a great victory for mankind. In that rude log-hut of

Georgia, Cotton was crowned King, and a new era opened for America and

the world.

Ten years after Whitney’s Cotton-gin was invented, a huge addition

was made to the cotton-growing districts of America. In 1803 Europe

enjoyed a short respite from the mad Napoleon wars. France had recently

acquired from Spain vast regions bordering on the Gulf of Mexico, and

stretching far up the valley of the Mississippi, and westward to the

Pacific. It was certain that peace in Europe would not last long. It

was equally certain that when war was resumed France could not hold

these possessions against the fleets of England. America wished to

acquire, and was willing to pay for them. It was better to sell to the

Americans, and equip soldiers with the price, than wait till England

was ready to conquer. Napoleon sold, and America added Louisiana to her

vast possessions.

Mark well these two events--the invention of a machine for cheaply

separating the seeds of cotton from the fibre, and the purchase of

Louisiana from the French. Out of these events flows the American

history of the next half century. Not any other event since the War of

Independence--not all other events put together, have done so much to

shape and determine the career of the American people.

CHAPTER II.

SLAVERY.

When America gained her independence slavery existed in all the

colonies. No State was free from the taint; even the New England

Puritans held slaves. At an early period they had learned to enslave

their Indian neighbours. The children of the Pilgrims owned Indians,

and in due time owned Africans, without remorse. But the number of

slaves in the North was always small. At first it was not to the higher

principle or clearer intelligence of the Northern men that this limited

prevalence of slavery was due. The North was not a region where slave

labour could ever be profitable. The climate was harsh, the soil rocky

and bleak; and labour required to be directed by intelligence. In that

comparatively unproductive land the mindless and heartless toil of the

slave would scarcely defray the cost of his support. At the Revolution

there were half a million of slaves in the colonies, and of these only

thirty to forty thousand were in the North.

It was otherwise in the sunny and luxuriant South. The African was at

home there, for the climate was like his own. The rich soil yielded

its wealth to labour in the slightest and least intelligent form. The

culture of rice, and tobacco, and cotton supplied the very kind of

work which a slave was fitted to perform. The South found profitable

employment for as many Africans as the slave-traders were able to

steal.

And yet at the Revolution slavery enjoyed no great degree of favour.

The free spirit enkindled by the war was in violent opposition to

the existence of a system of bondage. The presence of the slaves

had disabled the South from taking the part she ought in the War of

Independence. The white men had to stay at home to watch the black.

Virginia, Washington’s State, furnished a reasonable proportion

of troops; but the other Southern States were almost worthless.

Everywhere in the North slavery was regarded as an objectionable and

decaying institution. The leaders of the Revolution, themselves mainly

slave-owners, were eagerly desirous that slavery should be abolished.

Washington was utterly opposed to the system, and provided in his will

for the emancipation of his own slaves. Hamilton was a member of an

association for the gradual abolition of slavery. John Adams would

never own a slave. Franklin, Patrick Henry, Madison, Munroe, were

united in their reprobation of slavery. Jefferson, a Virginian, who

prepared the Declaration of Independence, said that in view of slavery

“he trembled for his country, when he reflected that God was just.”

In the convention which met to frame a Constitution for America the

feeling of antagonism to slavery was supreme. Had the majority followed

their own course, provision would have been made then for the gradual

extinction of slavery. But there arose here a necessity for one of

those compromises by which the history of America has been so sadly

marked. When it was proposed to prohibit the importation of slaves, all

the Northern and most of the Southern States favoured the proposal. But

South Carolina and Georgia were insatiable in their thirst for African

labour. They decisively refused to become parties to a Union in which

there was to be no importation of slaves. The other States yielded.

Instead of an immediate abolition of this hateful traffic, it was

agreed merely that after twenty years Congress should be at liberty to

abolish the slave-trade if it chose. By the same threat of disunion

the Slave States of the extreme South gained other advantages. It was

fixed by the Constitution that a slave who fled to a Free State was not

therefore to become a free man. He must be given back to his owner. It

was yet further conceded that the Slave States should have increased

political power in proportion to the number of their slaves. A black

man did not count for so much as a white. Every State was to send

members to the House of Representatives according to its population,

and in reckoning that population five negroes were to be counted as

three.

And yet at that time, and for years after, the opinion of the

South itself regarded slavery as an evil--thrust upon them by

England--difficult to be got rid of--profitable, it might be, but

lamentable and temporary. No slave-holder refused to discuss the

subject or to admit the evils of the system. No violence was offered to

those who denounced it. The clergy might venture to preach against it.

Hopeful persons might foretell the approach of liberty to those unhappy

captives. Even the lowest of the slave-holding class did not yet resent

the expression of such hopes.

But a mighty change was destined to pass upon the tone of Southern

opinion. The purchase of Louisiana opened a vast tract of the most

fertile land in the world to the growth of cotton; Whitney’s invention

made the growth of cotton profitable. Slave-holding became lucrative.

It was wealth to own a little plantation and a few negroes; and

there was an eager race for the possession of slaves. Importation

alone could not supply the demand. Some of the more northerly of the

Southern States turned their attention to the breeding of slaves for

the Southern markets. Kentucky and Virginia became rich and infamous by

this awful commerce.[1] While iniquity was not specially profitable,

the Southern States were not very reluctant to be virtuous. When the

gains of wickedness became, as they now did, enormous, virtue ceased to

have a footing in the South.

During many years the leader of the slave-owners was John C. Calhoun.

He was a native of South Carolina--a tall, slender, gipsy-looking man,

with an eye whose wondrous depth and power impressed all who came into

his presence. Calhoun taught the people of the South that slavery was

good for the slave. It was a benign, civilizing agency. The African

attained to a measure of intelligence in slavery greatly in advance

of that which he had ever reached as a free man. To him, visibly, it

was a blessing to be enslaved. From all this it was easy to infer that

Providence had appointed slavery for the advantage of both races;

that opposition to this Heaven-ordained institution was profane; that

abolition was merely an aspect of infidelity. So Calhoun taught; so the

South learned to believe. [Sidenote: 1850 A.D.] Calhoun’s last speech

in Congress warned the North that opposition to slavery would destroy

the Union. His latest conversation was on this absorbing theme. A few

hours after, he had passed where all dimness of vision is removed, and

errors of judgment become impossible!

It was very pleasant for the slave-owners to be taught that slavery

enjoyed divine sanction. The doctrine had other apostles than Mr.

Calhoun. Unhappily it came to form part of the regular pulpit teaching

of the Southern churches. It was gravely argued out from the Old

Testament that slavery was the proper condition of the negro. Ham was

to be the servant of his brethren; hence all the descendants of Ham

were the rightful property of white men. The slave who fled from his

master was guilty of the crime of theft in one of its most heinous

forms. So taught the Southern pulpit. Many books, written by grave

divines for the enforcement of these doctrines, remain to awaken the

amazement of posterity.

The slave-owners inclined a willing ear to these pleasing assurances.

They knew slavery to be profitable; their leaders in Church and State

told them it was right. It was little wonder that a fanatical love

to slavery possessed their hearts. In the passionate, ill-regulated

minds of the slave-owning class it became in course of years almost a

madness, which was shared, unhappily, by the great mass of the white

population. Discussion could no longer be permitted. It became a

fearful risk to express in the South an opinion hostile to slavery. It

was a familiar boast that no man who opposed slavery would be suffered

to live in a Slave State; and the slave-owners made their word good.

Many who were suspected of hostile opinions were tarred and feathered,

and turned out of the State. Many were shot; many were hanged; some

were burned. The Southern mobs were singularly brutal, and the

slave-owners found willing hands to do their fiendish work. The law did

not interfere to prevent or punish such atrocities. The churches looked

on and held their peace.

As slave property increased in value, a strangely horrible system of

laws gathered around it. The slave was regarded, not as a person, but

as a thing. He had no civil rights; nay, it was declared by the highest

legal authority that a slave had no rights at all which a white man was

bound to respect. The most sacred laws of nature were defied. Marriage

was a tie which bound the slave only during the master’s pleasure. A

slave had no more legal authority over his child “than a cow has over

her calf.” It was a grave offence to teach a slave to read. A white

man might expiate that offence by fine or imprisonment; to a black man

it involved flogging. The owner might not without challenge murder

an unoffending slave; but a slave resisting his master’s will might

lawfully be slain. A slave who would not stand to be flogged, might be

shot as he ran off. The master was blameless if his slave died under

the administration of reasonable correction--in other words, if he

flogged a slave to death. A fugitive slave might be killed by any means

which his owner chose to employ. On the other hand, there was a slender

pretext of laws for the protection of the slave. Any master, for

instance, who wantonly cut out the tongue or put out the eyes of his

slave, was liable to a small fine. But as no slave could give evidence

affecting a white man in a court of law, the law had no terrors for the

slave-owner.

The practice of the South in regard to her slaves was not unworthy

of her laws. Children were habitually torn away from their mothers.

Husbands and wives were habitually separated, and forced to contract

new marriages. Public whipping-houses became an institution. The

hunting of escaped slaves became a regular profession, and dogs were

bred and trained for that special work. Slaves who were suspected of an

intention to escape were branded with red-hot irons. When the Northern

armies forced their way into the South, many of the slaves who fled

to them were found to be scarred or mutilated. The burning of a negro

who was accused of crime was a familiar occurrence. It was a debated

question whether it was more profitable to work the slaves moderately,

and so make them last, or to take the greatest possible amount of work

from them, even although that would quickly destroy them. Some favoured

the plan of overworking, and acted upon it without scruple.

These things were done, and the Christian churches of the South were

not ashamed to say that the system out of which they flowed enjoyed

the sanction of God! It appeared that men who had spent their lives in

the South were themselves so brutalized by their familiarity with the

atrocities of slavery, that the standard by which they judged it was no

higher than that of the lowest savages.

CHAPTER III.

MISSOURI.

When the State of Louisiana was received into the Union in 1812, there

was left out a large proportion of the original purchase from Napoleon.

As yet this region was unpeopled. It lay silent and unprofitable--a

vast reserve prepared for the wants of unborn generations. It was

traversed by the Missouri river. The great Mississippi was its boundary

on the east. It possessed, in all, a navigable river-line of two

thousand miles. Enormous mineral wealth was treasured up to enrich

the world for centuries to come. There were coal-fields greater than

those of all Europe. There was iron piled up in mountains, one of

which contained two hundred million tons of ore. There was profusion

of copper, of zinc, of lead. There were boundless forests. There was

a soil unsurpassed in fertility. The climate was kindly and genial,

marred by neither the stern winters of the North nor the fierce heats

of the South. The scenery was often of rare beauty and grandeur.

This was the Territory of Missouri. Gradually settlers from the

neighbouring States dropped in. Slave-holders came, bringing their

chattels with them. They were first in the field, and they took secure

possession. The free emigrant turned aside, and the slave-power reigned

supreme in Missouri. The wealth and beauty of this glorious land were

wedded to the most gigantic system of evil which ever established

itself upon the earth.

By the year 1818 there were sixty thousand persons residing in

Missouri. The time had come for the admission of this Territory into

the Union as a State. It was the first great contest between the Free

and the Slave States. The cotton-gin, the acquisition of Louisiana,

the teaching of Calhoun, had done their work. The slave-owners were

now a great political power--resolute, unscrupulous, intolerant of

opposition. The next half century of American history takes its tone

very much from their fierce and restless energy. Their policy never

wavered. To gain predominance for slavery, with room for its indefinite

expansion, these were their aims. American history is filled with their

violence on to a certain April morning in 1865, when the slave-power

and all its lawless pretensions lay crushed among the ruins of Richmond.

When the application of Missouri for admission into the Union came

to be considered in Congress, an attempt was made to shut slavery

wholly out of the new State. A struggle ensued which lasted for nearly

three years. The question was one of vital importance. At that time

the number of Free States and the number of Slave States were exactly

equal. Whosoever gained Missouri gained a majority in the Senate. The

North was deeply in earnest in desiring to prevent the extension of

slavery. The South was equally resolute that no limitation should be

imposed. The result was a compromise, proposed by the South. Missouri

was to be given over to slavery. But it was agreed that, excepting

within the limits of Missouri herself, slavery should not be permitted

in any part of the territory purchased from France, north of a line

drawn eastward and westward from the southern boundary of that State.

Thus far might the waves of this foul tide flow, but no further. So

ended the great controversy, in the decisive victory of the South.

CHAPTER IV.

HOPE FOR THE NEGRO.

The North participated in the gains of slavery. The cotton-planter

borrowed money at high interest from the Northern capitalist. He bought

his goods in Northern markets; he sent his cotton to the North for

sale. The Northern merchants made money at his hands, and were in no

haste to overthrow the peculiar institution out of which results so

pleasant flowed. They had no occasion, as the planter had, to persuade

themselves that slavery enjoyed special divine sanction. But it did

become a very general belief in the North that without slave-labour

the cultivation of Southern lands was impossible. It was also very

generally alleged that the condition of the slave was preferable to

that of the free European labourer.

All looked very hopeless for the poor negro. The South claimed to hold

him by divine right. She looked to a future of indefinite expansion.

The boundless regions which stretched away from her border, untrodden

by man, were marked out for slave territory. A powerful sentiment in

the North supported her claims. She was able to exercise a controlling

influence over the Federal Government. It seemed as if all authority in

the Union was pledged to uphold slavery, and assert for ever the right

of the white man to hold the black man as an article of merchandise.

But even then the awakening of the Northern conscience had begun. On

the 1st of January 1831, a journeyman printer, William Lloyd Garrison,

published in Boston the first number of a paper devoted to the

abolition of slavery. This is perhaps the earliest prominent incident

in the history of Emancipation. It was indeed a humble opening of a

noble career. Garrison was young and penniless. He wrote the articles,

and he also, with the help of a friend, set the types. He lived mainly

on bread and water. Only when a number of the paper sold particularly

well, he and his companion indulged in a bowl of milk. The Mayor of

Boston was asked by a Southern magistrate to suppress the paper. He

replied that it was not worth the trouble. The office of the editor

was “an obscure hole; his only visible auxiliary a negro boy; his

supporters a few insignificant persons of all colours.” The lordly

Southerners need not be uneasy about this obscure editor and his paltry

newspaper.

But the fulness of time had come, and every word spoken against slavery

found now some willing listener. In the year after Garrison began his

paper the American Anti-slavery Society was formed. It was composed

of twelve members. Busy hands were scattering the seed abroad, and it

sprang quickly. Within three years there were two hundred anti-slavery

societies in America; in seven years more these had increased to two

thousand. The war against slavery was now begun in earnest.

The slave-owners and their allies in the North regarded with rage

unutterable this formidable invasion. Everywhere they opposed violence

to the arguments of their opponents. Large rewards were offered for the

capture of prominent abolitionists. Many Northern men, who unwarily

strayed into Southern States, were murdered on the mere suspicion

that they were opposed to slavery. [Sidenote: 1835 A.D.] President

Jackson recommended Congress to forbid the conveyance to the South,

by the mails, of anti-slavery publications. In Boston a mob of

well-dressed and respectable citizens suppressed a meeting of female

abolitionists. While busied about that enterprise, they were fortunate

enough to lay hold of Garrison, whose murder they designed, and would

have accomplished, had not a timely sally of the constables rescued

him from their grasp. [Sidenote: 1833 A.D.] In Connecticut a young

woman was imprisoned for teaching negro children to read. Philadelphia

was disgraced by riots in which negroes were killed and their houses

burned down. Throughout the Northern States anti-slavery meetings were

habitually invaded and broken up by the allies of the slave-owners.

The abolitionists were devoured by a zeal which knew no bounds and

permitted no rest. The slave-owners met them with a deep, remorseless,

murderous hatred, which gradually possessed and corroded their whole

nature. In this war, as it soon became evident, there could be no

compromise. Peace was impossible otherwise than by the destruction of

one or other of the contending parties.

The spirit in which the South defended her cherished institution was

fairly exemplified in her treatment of a young clergyman, Mr. Lovejoy,

who offended her by his antipathy to slavery. Mr. Lovejoy established

himself in Alton, a little town of Illinois, where he conducted a

newspaper. Illinois was itself a Free State; but Missouri was near, and

the slave-power was supreme in all that region. Mr. Lovejoy declared

himself in his newspaper against slavery. He was requested to withdraw

from that neighbourhood; but he maintained his right of free speech,

and chose to remain. The mob sacked his printing-office, and flung his

press into the river. [Sidenote: 1837 A.D.] Mr. Lovejoy bought another

press. The arrival of this new machine highly displeased the ruffianism

of the little town of Alton. It was stored for safety in a well-secured

building, and two or three well-disposed citizens kept armed watch over

it. The mob attacked the warehouse. Shots were exchanged, and some of

the rioters were slain. At length the mob succeeded in setting fire to

the building. When Mr. Lovejoy showed himself to the crowd he was fired

at, and fell pierced by five bullets. The printing-press was broken;

the newspaper was silenced; the hostile editor was slaughtered. The

offended majesty of the slave-power was becomingly vindicated.

CHAPTER V.

TEXAS.

The decaying energies of Spain were sorely wasted by the wars which

Napoleon forced upon her. Invaded, conquered, occupied, fought for

during years by great armies, Spain issued from the struggle in a state

of utter exhaustion. It was impossible that a country so enfeebled

could maintain a great colonial dominion. Not long after the Battle of

Waterloo all her American dependencies chose to be independent, and

Spain could do nothing to prevent it. Among the rest, Mexico won for

herself the privilege of self-government, of which she has thus far

proved herself so incapable.

Lying between the Mississippi and the Rio Grande was a vast wilderness

of undefined extent and uncertain ownership, which America, with some

hesitation, recognized as belonging to Mexico. It was called Texas.

The climate was genial; the soil was of wondrous fertility. [Sidenote:

1829 A.D.] America coveted this fair region, and offered to buy it from

Mexico. Her offer was declined.

The great natural wealth of Texas, combined with the almost total

absence of government, were powerful attractions to the lawless

adventurers who abounded in the South-Western States. A tide of vagrant

blackguardism streamed into Texas. Safe from the grasp of justice,

the murderer, the thief, the fraudulent debtor, opened in Texas a new

and more hopeful career. Founded by these conscript fathers, Texan

society grew apace. [Sidenote: 1836 A.D.] In a few years Texas felt

herself strong enough to be independent. Her connection with Mexico was

declared to be at an end.

The leader in this revolution was Sam Houston, a Virginian of massive

frame--energetic, audacious, unscrupulous--in no mean degree fitted to

direct the storm he had helped to raise. For Houston was a Southerner,

and it was his ambition to gain Texas for the purposes of the

slave-owners. Mexico had abolished slavery. Texas could be no home for

the possessor of slaves till she was severed from Mexico.

When independence was declared, Texas had to defend her newly-claimed

liberties by the sword. General Houston headed the patriot forces, not

quite four hundred in number, and imperfectly armed. Santa Anna came

against them with an army of five thousand. The Texans retreated, and

having nothing to carry, easily distanced their pursuers. At the San

Jacinto, Houston was strengthened by the arrival of two field-pieces.

He turned like a lion upon the unexpectant Mexicans, whom he caught

in the very act of crossing the river. He fired grape-shot into their

quaking ranks. His unconquerable Texans clubbed their muskets--they had

no bayonets--and rushed upon the foe. The Mexicans fled in helpless

rout, and Texas was free. The grateful Texans elected General Houston

President of the republic which he had thus saved.

[Sidenote: 1837 A.D.] No sooner was Texas independent than she offered

to join herself to the United States. Her proposals were at first

declined. But the South warmly espoused her cause and urged her claims.

Once more North and South met in fiery debate. Slavery had already a

sure footing in Texas. If Texas entered the Union, it was as a Slave

State. On that ground avowedly the South urged the annexation; on that

ground the North resisted it. “We all see,” said Daniel Webster,

“that Texas will be a slave-holding country; and I frankly avow my

unwillingness to do anything which shall extend the slavery of the

African race on this continent, or add another Slave-holding State to

the Union.” “The South,” said the Legislature of Mississippi, speaking

of slavery, “does not possess a blessing with which the affections of

her people are so closely entwined, and whose value is more highly

appreciated. By the annexation of Texas an equipoise of influence

in the halls of Congress will be secured, which will furnish us a

permanent guarantee of protection.”

It was the battle-ground on which all the recent great battles of

American political history have been fought. It ended, as such battles

at that time usually did, in Southern victory. In March 1845 Texas was

received into the Union. The slave-power gained new votes in Congress,

and room for a vast extension of the slave-system.

CHAPTER VI.

THE WAR WITH MEXICO.

Mexico was displeased with the annexation of Texas, but did not

manifest so quickly as it was hoped she would any disposition to avenge

herself. Mr. Polk, a Southern man, was now President, and he governed

in the interest of the South. A war with Mexico was a thing to be

desired, because Mexico must be beaten, and could then be plundered of

territory which the slave-owners would appropriate. [Sidenote: 1846

A.D.] To provoke Mexico the Unready, an army of four thousand men was

sent to the extreme south-western confines of Texas. A Mexican army

of six thousand lay near. The Americans, with marvellous audacity,

erected a fort within easy range of Matamoras, a city of the Mexicans,

and thus the place was in their power. After much hesitation the

Mexican army attacked the Americans, and received, as they might well

have anticipated, a severe defeat. Thus, without the formality of any

declaration, the war was begun.

President Polk hastened to announce to Congress that the Mexicans had

“invaded our territory, and shed the blood of our fellow-citizens.”

Congress voted men and money for the prosecution of the war, and

volunteers offered themselves in multitudes. Their brave little army

was in peril--far from help, and surrounded by enemies. The people

were eager to support the heroes, of whose victory they were so proud.

And yet opinion was much divided. Many deemed the war unjust and

disgraceful. Among these was a young lawyer of Illinois, destined in

later years to fill a place in the hearts of his countrymen second only

to that of Washington. Abraham Lincoln entered Congress while the war

was in progress, and his first speech was in condemnation of the course

pursued by the Government.

The war was pushed with vigour at first under the command of General

Taylor, who was to become the next President; and finally under General

Scott, who, as a very young man, had fought against the British at

Niagara, and, as a very old man, was Commander-in-Chief of the American

Army when the great war between North and South began. Many officers

were there whose names became famous in after years. General Lee and

General Grant gained here their first experience of war. They were not

then known to each other. They met for the first time, twenty years

after, in a Virginian cottage, to arrange terms of surrender for the

defeated army of the Southern Confederacy!

The Americans resolved to fight their way to the enemy’s capital, and

there compel such a peace as would be agreeable to themselves. The

task was not without difficulty. The Mexican army was greatly more

numerous. They had a splendid cavalry force and an efficient artillery.

Their commander, Santa Anna, unscrupulous even for a Mexican, was yet

a soldier of some ability. The Americans were mainly volunteers who

had never seen war till now. The fighting was severe. At Buena-Vista

the American army was attacked by a force which outnumbered it in the

proportion of five to one. The battle lasted for ten hours, and the

invaders were saved from ruin by their superior artillery. The mountain

passes were strongly fortified, and General Scott had to convey his

army across chasms and ravines which the Mexicans, deeming them

impracticable, had neglected to defend. Strong in the consciousness of

their superiority to the people they invaded--the same consciousness

which supported Cortes and his Spaniards three centuries before--the

Americans pressed on. At length they came in sight of Mexico, at the

same spot where Cortes had viewed it. [Sidenote: Sept. 14, 1847 A.D.]

Once more they routed a Mexican army of greatly superior force; and

then General Scott marched his little army of six thousand men quietly

into the capital. The war was closed, and a treaty of peace was with

little delay negotiated.

CHAPTER VII.

CALIFORNIA.

America exacted mercilessly the penalty which usually attends defeat.

Mexico was to receive fifteen million dollars; but she ceded an

enormous territory stretching westward from Texas to the Pacific.

One of the provinces which composed this magnificent prize was

California. The slave-owners had gone to war with Mexico that they

might gain territory which slavery should possess for ever. They sought

to introduce California into the Union as a Slave State. But Providence

interposed to shield her from a destiny so unhappy.

[Sidenote: 1848 A.D.] Just about the time that California became an

American possession, it was discovered that her soil was richly endowed

with gold. On one of the tributaries of the Sacramento river an old

settler was peacefully digging a trench--caring little, it may be

supposed, about the change of citizenship which he had undergone--not

dreaming that the next stroke of his spade was to influence the

history, not merely of California, but of the world. Among the sand

which he lifted were certain shining particles. His wondering eye

considered them with attention. They were Gold! Gold was everywhere--in

the soil, in the river-sand, in the mountain-rock; gold in dust, gold

in pellets, gold in lumps! It was the land of old fairy tale, where

wealth could be had by him who chose to stoop down and gather!

Fast as the mails could carry it the bewildering news thrilled the

heart of America. To the energetic youth of the Northern States the

charm was irresistible. It was now, indeed, a reproach to be poor, when

it was so easy to be rich.

The journey to the land of promise was full of toil and danger. There

were over two thousand miles of unexplored wilderness to traverse.

There were mountain ranges to surmount, lofty and rugged as the Alps

themselves. There were great desolate plains, unwatered and without

vegetation. Indians, whose dispositions there was reason to question,

beset the path. But danger was unconsidered. That season thirty

thousand Americans crossed the plains, climbed the mountains, forded

the streams, bore without shrinking all that want, exposure, and

fatigue could inflict. Cholera broke out among them, and four thousand

left their bones in the wilderness. The rest plodded on undismayed.

Fifty thousand came by sea. From all countries they came--from quiet

English villages, from the crowded cities of China. Before the year

was out California had gained an addition of eighty thousand to her

population.

These came mainly from the Northern States. They had no thought

of suffering in their new home the evil institution of the South.

[Sidenote: 1850 A.D.] They settled easily the constitution of their

State, and California was received into the Union free from the taint

of slavery.

It was no slight disappointment to the men of the South. They had

urged on the war with Mexico in order to gain new Slave States, new

votes in Congress, additional room for the spread of slavery. They had

gained all the territory they hoped for; but this strange revelation

of gold had peopled it from the North, and slavery was shut out for

ever. To soothe their irritation, Henry Clay proposed a very black

concession, under the disgrace of which America suffered for years

in the estimation of all Christian nations. The South was angry, and

hinted even then at secession. The North was prosperous. Her merchants

were growing rich; her farmers were rapidly overspreading the country

and subduing waste lands to the service of man. Every year saw vast

accessions to her wealth; and her supreme desire was for quietness. In

this frame of mind she assented to the passing of the Fugitive Slave

Law. Heretofore it had been lawful for the slave-owner to reclaim his

slave who had escaped into a Free State; but although lawful, it was

in practice almost impossible. Now the officers of the Government,

and all good citizens, were commanded to give to the pursuer all

needful help. In certain cases Government was to defray the expense of

restoring the slave to the plantation from which he had fled. In any

trial arising under this law, the evidence of the slave himself was not

to be received; the oath of his pursuer was almost decisive against

him. Hundreds of Southern ruffians hastened to take vile advantage of

this shameful law. They searched out coloured men in the Free States,

and swore that they were escaped slaves. In too many instances they

were successful, and many free negroes as well as escaped slaves were

borne back to the miseries of slavery. The North erred grievously

in consenting to a measure so base. It is just, however, to say,

that although Northern politicians upheld it as a wise and necessary

compromise, the Northern people in their hearts abhorred it. The law

was so unpopular that its execution was resisted in several Northern

cities, and it quickly passed into disuse.

CHAPTER VIII.

KANSAS.

The great Louisiana purchase from Napoleon was not yet wholly portioned

off into States. Westward and northward of Missouri was an enormous

expanse of the richest land in the Union, having as yet few occupants

more profitable than the Indians. Two great routes of travel--to the

west and to the south-west--traversed it. The eager searcher for gold

passed that way on his long walk to California. The Mormon looked with

indifference on its luxuriant vegetation as he toiled on to his New

Jerusalem by the Great Salt Lake. In the year 1853 it was proposed

to organize this region into two Territories, under the names of

Kansas and Nebraska. Here once more arose the old question--Shall the

Territories be Slave or Free? The Missouri Compromise had settled that

slavery should never come here. But the slave-owners were able to

cancel this settlement. [Sidenote: 1854 A.D.] A law was enacted under

which the inhabitants were left to choose between slavery and freedom.

The vote of a majority would decide the destiny of these magnificent

provinces.

And now both parties had to bestir themselves. The early inhabitants

of the infant States were to fix for all time whether they would admit

or exclude the slave-owner with his victims. Everything depended,

therefore, on taking early possession.

The South was first in the field. Missouri was near, and her citizens

led the way. Great slave-owners took possession of lands in Kansas,

and loudly invited their brethren from other States to come at once,

bringing their slaves with them. But their numbers were small, while

the need was urgent. The South had no population to spare fitted for

the work of colonizing, but she had in large numbers the class of “mean

whites.” In the mean white of the Southern States we are permitted to

see how low it is possible for our Anglo-Saxon humanity to fall. The

mean white is entirely without education. His house is a hovel of the

very lowest description. Personally he walks in rags and filth. He

cannot stoop to work, because slavery has rendered labour disreputable.

He supports himself as savages do--by shooting, by fishing, by the

plunder of his industrious neighbours’ fields and folds. The negro, out

of the unutterable degradation to which he has been subjected, looks

with scorn upon the mean white.

[Sidenote: 1855 A.D.] The mean whites of Missouri were easily

marshalled for a raid into Kansas. The time came when elections were

to take place--when the great question of Slave or Free was to be

answered. Gangs of armed ruffians were marched over from Missouri.

Such a party--nearly a thousand strong, accompanied by two pieces of

cannon--entered the little town of Lawrence on the morning of the

election day. The ballot-boxes were taken possession of, and the

peaceful inhabitants were driven away. The invaders cast fictitious

votes into the boxes, outnumbering ten or twenty times the lawful roll

of voters. A legislature wholly in the interests of slavery was thus

elected, and in due time that body began to enact laws. No man whose

opinions were opposed to slavery was to be an elector in Kansas. Any

man who spoke or wrote against slavery was to suffer imprisonment with

hard labour. Death was the penalty for aiding the escape of a slave.

All this was done while the enemies of slavery were an actual majority

of the inhabitants of Kansas!

And then the Border ruffians overran the country--working their own

wicked will wherever they came. The outrages they committed read like

the freaks of demons. A man betted that he would scalp an abolitionist.

He rode out from the little town of Leavensworth in search of a victim.

He met a gentleman driving in a gig, shot him, scalped him, rode back

to town, showed his ghastly trophy, and received payment of his bet.

Men were gathered up from their work in the fields, ranged in line, and

ruthlessly shot to death, because they hated slavery. A lawyer who had

protested against frauds at an election was tarred and feathered; thus

attired, he was put up to auction and sold to the highest bidder. The

town of Lawrence was attacked by eight hundred marauders, who plundered

it to their content--bombarding with artillery houses which displeased

them--burning and destroying in utter wantonness.

But during all this unhappy time the steady tide of Northern

immigration into Kansas flowed on. From the very outset of the strife

the North was resolute to win Kansas for freedom. She sought to do

this by colonizing Kansas with men who hated slavery. Societies were

formed to aid poor emigrants. In single families, in groups of fifty to

a hundred persons, the settlers were promptly moved westward. Some of

these merely obeyed the impulse which drives so many Americans to leave

the settled States of the east and push out into the wilderness. Others

went that their votes might prevent the spread of slavery. There was no

small measure of patriotism in the movement. Men left their comfortable

homes in the east and carried their families into a wilderness, to the

natural miseries of which was added the presence of bitter enemies.

They did so that Kansas might be a Free State. Cannon were planted on

the banks of the Missouri to prevent their entrance into Kansas. Many

of them were plundered and turned back. Often their houses were burned

and their fields wasted. But they were a self-reliant people, to whom

it was no hardship to be obliged to defend themselves. When need arose

they banded themselves together and gave battle to the ruffians who

troubled them. And all the while they were growing stronger by constant

reinforcements from the east. There were building, and clearing, and

ploughing, and sowing. In spite of Southern outrage Kansas was fast

ripening into a free and orderly community. [Sidenote: 1859 A.D.] In

a few years the party of freedom was able to carry the elections. A

constitution was adopted by which slavery was excluded from Kansas.

[Sidenote: 1861 A.D.] And at length, just when the great final struggle

between slavery and freedom was commencing, Kansas was received as a

Free State. Her admission raised the number of States in the Union to

thirty-four.

CHAPTER IX.

THE UNDERGROUND RAILWAY.

The conflict deepened as years passed. The Abolitionists became more

irrepressible, the Slave-holders more savage. There seemed no hope of

the law becoming just. The American people have a deep reverence for

law, but here it was overborne by their sense of injustice. The wicked

law was habitually set at defiance, and plans were carefully framed for

aiding the escape of slaves. It was whispered about among the negroes

that at certain points they were sure to find friends, shelter, and

safe conveyance to Canada. Around every plantation there stretched

dense jungles, swamps, pathless forests. The escaping slave fled to

these gloomy solitudes. They hunted him with bloodhounds, and many a

poor wretch was dragged back to groan under deeper brutalities than

before. If happily undiscovered, he made his way to certain well-known

stations, a chain of which passed him safely on to the protection of

the British flag. This was the Underground Railway. Now and then its

agents were discovered. In that miserable time it was a grave offence

to help a slave to escape. The offender was doomed to heavy fine or

long imprisonment. Some died in prison of the hardships they endured.

But the Underground Railway never wanted agents. No sooner had the

unjust law claimed its victim than another stepped into his place.

During many years the average number of slaves freed by this agency was

considerably over a thousand.

The slave-holders made it unsafe for Northerners of anti-slavery

opinions to remain in the South. Acts of brutal violence--very

frequently resulting in murder--became very common. [Sidenote: 1860

A.D.] During one year eight hundred persons were robbed, whipped,

tarred and feathered, or murdered for suspected antipathy to slavery.

The possession of an anti-slavery newspaper or book involved expulsion

from the State; and the circulation of such works could scarcely be

expiated by any punishment but death. In Virginia and Maryland it was

gravely contemplated to drive the free negroes from their homes, or

to sell them into slavery and devote the money thus obtained to the

support of the common schools! Arkansas did actually expel her free

negroes. The slave-holders were determined that nothing which could

remind their victims of liberty should be suffered to remain.

[Sidenote: 1858 A.D.] It was well said by Mr. Seward that they greatly

erred who deemed this collision accidental or ephemeral. It was “an

irrepressible conflict between opposing and enduring forces.” All

attempts at compromise would be short-lived and vain.

* * * * *

The most influential advocate of the numerous compromises by which the

strife was sought to be calmed, was Henry Clay of Kentucky. Clay was

much loved for his genial dispositions, much honoured and trusted in

for his commanding ability. For many years of the prolonged struggle he

seemed to stand between North and South--wielding authority over both.

Although Southern, he hated slavery, and the slave-holders had often to

receive from his lips emphatic denunciations of their favourite system.

But he hated the doctrines of the abolitionists, too, and believed they

were leading towards the dissolution of the Union. He desired gradual

emancipation, and along with it the return of the negroes to Africa.

His aim was to deliver his country from the taint of slavery; but he

would effect that great revolution step by step, as the country could

bear it. At every crisis he was ready with a compromise. His proposals

soothed the angry passions which were aroused when Missouri sought

admission into the Union. [Sidenote: 1850 A.D.] His, too, was that

unhappy compromise, one feature of which was the Fugitive Slave Bill.

If compromise could have averted strife, Henry Clay would have saved

his country. But the conflict was irrepressible.

* * * * *

The slave-power grew very bold during the later years of its existence.

The re-opening of the slave-trade became one of the questions of the

day in the Southern States. The Governor of South Carolina expressly

recommended this measure. Southern newspapers supported it; Southern

ruffians actually accomplished it. Numerous cargoes of slaves were

landed in the South in open defiance of law, and the outrage was

unrebuked. [Sidenote: 1859 A.D.] Political conventions voted their

approval of the traffic, and associations were formed to promote

it. Agricultural societies offered prizes for the best specimens

of newly imported live Africans. It was even proposed that a prize

should be offered for the best sermon in favour of the slave-trade!

Advertisements like this were frequent in Southern newspapers--“For

sale, four hundred negroes, lately landed on the coast of Texas.” It

was possible to do such things then. A little later--in the days of

Abraham Lincoln--a certain ruffianly Captain Gordon made the perilous

experiment of bringing a cargo of slaves to New York. He was seized,

and promptly hanged, and there was no further attempt to revive the

slave-trade. Thus appropriately was this hideous traffic closed.

CHAPTER X.

JOHN BROWN.

The hatred of the North to slavery was rapidly growing. In the eyes

of some, slavery was an enormous sin, fitted to bring the curse of

God upon the land. To others, it was a political evil, marring the

unity and hindering the progress of the country. To very many, on the

one ground or the other, it was becoming hateful. Politicians sought

to delay by concessions the inevitable crisis. Simple men, guiding

themselves by their conviction of the wickedness of slavery, were

growing ever more vehement in their abhorrence of this evil thing.

John Brown was such a man. The blood of the Pilgrim Fathers flowed

in his veins; the old Puritan spirit guided all his actions. From

his boyhood he abhorred slavery; and he was constrained by his duty

to God and man to spend himself in this cause. There was no hope of

advantage in it; no desire for fame; no thought at all for himself

or for his children. He saw a huge wrong, and he could not help

setting himself to resist it. He was no politician. He was powerless

to influence the councils of the nation, but he had the old Puritan

aptitude for battle. He went to Kansas with his sons to help in the

fight for freedom; and while there was fighting to be done, John Brown

was at the front. He was a leader among the free settlers, who felt

his military superiority, and followed him with confidence in many a

bloody skirmish. He retired habitually into deep solitudes to pray. He

had morning and evening prayers, in which all his followers joined. He

would allow no man of immoral character in his camp. He believed that

God directed him in visions; he was God’s servant, and not man’s. The

work given him to do might be bitter to the flesh, but since it was

God’s work he dared not shrink from it.

When the triumph of freedom was secured in Kansas, John Brown moved

eastward to Virginia. He was now to devote himself in earnest to

the overthrow of the accursed institution. The laws of his country

sanctioned an enormous wickedness. He declared war against his country,

in so far as the national support of slavery was concerned. He prepared

a constitution and a semblance of government. He himself was the head

of this singular organization. Associated with him were a Secretary of

State, a Treasurer, and a Secretary of War. Slavery, he stated, was

a barbarous and unjustifiable war, carried on by one section of the

community against another. His new government was for the defence of

those whom the laws of the country wrongfully left undefended. He was

joined by a few enthusiasts like-minded with himself, and he laid up

a store of arms. He and his friends hung about plantations, and aided

the escape of slaves to Canada. Occasionally the horses and cattle of

the slave-owner were laid under contribution to support the costs of

the campaign. Brown meditated war upon a somewhat extensive scale, and

only waited the reinforcements of which he was assured, that he might

proclaim liberty to all the captives in his neighbourhood. But reason

appeared for believing that his plans had been betrayed to the enemy,

and Brown was hurried into measures which brought swift destruction

upon himself and his followers.

Harper’s Ferry was a town of five thousand inhabitants, nestling amid

steep and rugged mountains, where the Shenandoah unites its waters with

those of the Potomac. The National Armoury was here, and an arsenal

in which were laid up enormous stores of arms and ammunition. Brown

resolved to seize the arsenal. It was his hope that the slaves would

hasten to his standard when the news of his success went abroad. And he

seems to have reckoned that he would become strong enough to make terms

with the Government, or, at the worst, to secure the escape to Canada

of his armed followers.

[Sidenote: 1859 A.D.] One Sunday evening in October he marched

into Harper’s Ferry with a little army of twenty-two men--black

and white--and easily possessed himself of the arsenal. He cut the

telegraph wires; he stopped the trains which here cross the Potomac; he

made prisoners of the workmen who came in the morning to resume their

labours at the arsenal. His sentinels held the streets and bridges.

The surprise was complete, and for a few hours his possession of the

Government works was undisputed.

When at length the news of this amazing rebellion was suffered to

escape, and America learned that old John Brown had invaded and

conquered Harper’s Ferry, the rage and alarm of the slave-owners

and their supporters knew no bounds. The Virginians, upon whom the

affront fell most heavily, took prompt measures to avenge it. By

noon on Monday a force of militiamen surrounded the little town, to

prevent the escape of those whom, as yet, they were not strong enough

to capture. Before night fifteen hundred men were assembled. All that

night Brown held his conquest, till nearly all his men were wounded

or slain. His two sons were shot dead. Brown, standing beside their

bodies, calmly exhorted his men to be firm, and sell their lives as

dearly as possible. On Tuesday morning the soldiers forced an entrance,

and Brown, with a sabre-cut in his head, and two bayonet-stabs in his

body, was a prisoner. He was tried, and condemned to die. Throughout

his imprisonment, and even amid the horrors of the closing scene, his

habitual serenity was undisturbed. He “humbly trusted that he had the

peace of God, which passeth all understanding, to rule in his heart.”

To the enraged slave-owners John Brown was a detestable rebel. To the

abolitionists he was a martyr. To us he is a true, earnest, but most

ill-judging man. His actions were unwise, unwarrantable; but his aims

were noble, his self-devotion was heroic.

CHAPTER XI.

EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY.

In this year America made her decennial enumeration of her people and

their possessions. The industrial greatness which the census revealed

was an astonishment, not only to the rest of the world, but even to

herself. The slow growth of the old European countries seemed absolute

stagnation beside this swift multiplication of men and of beasts, and

of wealth in every form.

The three million colonists who had thrown off the British yoke had

now increased to thirty-one and a half million! Of these, four million

were slaves, owned by three hundred and fifty thousand persons. This

great population was assisted in its toils by six million horses and

two million working oxen. It owned eight million cows, fifteen million

other cattle, twenty-two million sheep, and thirty-three million

hogs. The products of the soil were enormous. The cotton crop of

this year was close upon one million tons. It had more than doubled

within the last ten years. The grain crop was twelve hundred million

bushels--figures so large as to pass beyond our comprehension. Tobacco

had more than doubled since 1850--until now America actually yielded

a supply of five hundred million pounds. There were five thousand

miles of canals, and thirty thousand miles of railroad--twenty-two

thousand of which were the creation of the preceding ten years. The

textile manufactures of the country had reached the annual value of

forty million sterling. America had provided for the education of her

children by erecting one hundred and thirteen thousand schools and

colleges, and employing one hundred and fifty thousand teachers. Her

educational institutions enjoyed revenues amounting to nearly seven

million sterling, and were attended by five and a half million pupils.

Religious instruction was given in fifty-four thousand churches, in

which there was accommodation for nineteen million hearers. The daily

history of the world was supplied by four thousand newspapers, which

circulated annually one thousand million copies.

There belonged to the American people nearly two thousand million

acres of land. They had not been able to make any use of the greater

part of this enormous heritage. Only four hundred million acres had as

yet become in any measure available for the benefit of man. The huge

remainder lay unpossessed--its power to give wealth to man growing

always greater during the long ages of solitude and neglect. The

ownership of this prodigious expanse of fertile land opened to the

American people a future of unexampled prosperity. They needed only

peace and the exercise of their own vigorous industry. But a sterner

task was in store for them.

* * * * *

During the last few years the divisions between North and South had

become exceedingly bitter. The North was becoming ever more intolerant

of slavery. The unreasoning and passionate South resented with growing

fierceness the Northern abhorrence of her favoured institution. In

the Senate House one day a member was bending over his desk, busied

in writing. His name was Charles Sumner, of Massachusetts. He was

well known for the hatred which he bore to slavery, and his power

as an orator gave him rank as a leader among those who desired the

overthrow of the system. While this senator was occupied with his

writing, there walked up to him two men whom South Carolina deemed

not unworthy to frame laws for a great people. One of them--a ruffian,

although a senator--whose name was Brooks, carried a heavy cane. With

this formidable weapon he discharged many blows upon the head of the

unsuspecting Sumner, till his victim fell bleeding and senseless to

the floor. For this outrage a trifling fine was imposed on Brooks. His

admiring constituents eagerly paid the amount. Brooks resigned his

seat, and was immediately re-elected. Handsome canes flowed in upon him

from all parts of the slave country. The South, in a most deliberate

and emphatic manner, recorded its approval of the crime which he had

committed.

To such a pass had North and South now come. Sumner vehemently

attacking slavery; Brooks vehemently smiting Sumner upon his

defenceless head--these men represent with perfect truthfulness the

feeling of the two great sections. This cannot last.

A new President fell to be elected in 1860. Never had an election taken

place under circumstances so exciting. The North was thoroughly aroused

on the slave question. The time for compromises was felt to have

passed. It was a death-grapple between the two powers. Each party had

to put forth its strength and conquer, or be crushed.

The enemies of slavery announced it as their design to prevent slavery

from extending to the Territories. They had no power to interfere

in States where the system already existed. But, they said, the

Territories belong to the Union. The proper condition of the Union is

freedom. The Slave States are merely exceptional. It is contrary to the

Constitution to carry this irregularity where it does not already exist.

The Territories, said the South, belong to the Union. All citizens

of the Union are free to go there with their property. Slaves are

property. Slavery may therefore be established in the Territories, if

slave-owners choose to settle there.

On this issue battle was joined. The Northern party nominated Abraham

Lincoln as their candidate. The Southerners, with their friends in

the North--of whom there were many--divided their votes among three

candidates. They were defeated, and Abraham Lincoln became President.

* * * * *

Mr. Lincoln was the son of a small and not very prosperous farmer.

He was born in 1809 in the State of Kentucky, but his youth was

passed mainly in Indiana. His father had chosen to settle on the

farthest verge of civilization. Around him was a dense, illimitable

forest, still wandered over by the Indians. Here and there in the

wilderness occurred a rude wooden hut like his own, the abode of some

rough settler regardless of comfort and greedy of the excitements of

pioneering. The next neighbour was two miles away. There were no roads,

no bridges, no inns. The traveller swam the rivers he had to cross, and

trusted, not in vain, to the hospitality of the settlers for food and

shelter. Now and then a clergyman passed that way, and from a hasty

platform beneath a tree the gospel was preached to an eagerly-listening

audience of rugged woodsmen. Many years after, when he had grown

wise and famous, Mr. Lincoln spoke, with tears in his eyes, of a

well-remembered sermon which he had heard from a wayfaring preacher in

the great Indiana wilderness. Justice was administered under the shade

of forest trees. The jury sat upon a log. The same tree which sheltered

the court, occasionally served as a gibbet for the criminal.

In this society--rugged, but honest and kindly--the youth of the

future President was passed. He had little schooling; indeed there was

scarcely a school within reach, and if all the days of his school-time

were added together they would scarcely make up one year. His father

was poor, and Abraham was needed on the farm. There was timber to fell,

there were fences to build, fields to plough, sowing and reaping to

be done. Abraham led a busy life, and knew well, while yet a boy,

what hard work meant. Like all boys who come to anything great, he had

a devouring thirst for knowledge. He borrowed all the books in his

neighbourhood, and read them by the blaze of the logs which his own axe

had split.

This was his upbringing. When he entered life for himself, it was as

clerk in a small store. He served nearly a year there, conducting

faithfully and cheerfully the lowly commerce by which the wants of the

settlers were supplied. Then he comes before us as a soldier, fighting

a not very bloody campaign against the Indians, who had undertaken,

rather imprudently, to drive the white men out of that region. Having

settled in Illinois, he commenced the study of law, supporting himself

by land-surveying during the unprofitable stages of that pursuit.

Finally he applied himself to politics, and in 1834 was elected a

member of the Legislature of Illinois.

He was now in his twenty-fifth year; of vast stature, somewhat

awkwardly fashioned, slender for his height, but uncommonly muscular

and enduring. He was of pleasant humour, ready and true insight. After

such a boyhood as his, difficulty had no terrors for him, and he was

incapable of defeat. His manners were very homely. His lank, ungainly

figure, dressed in the native manufacture of the backwoods, would have

spread dismay in a European drawing-room. He was smiled at even in the

uncourtly Legislature of Illinois. But here, as elsewhere, whoever came

into contact with Abraham Lincoln felt that he was a man framed to

lead other men. Sagacious, penetrating, full of resource, and withal

honest, kindly, conciliatory, his hands might be roughened by toil, his

dress and ways might be those of the wilderness, yet was he quickly

recognized as a born king of men.

During the next twenty-six years Mr. Lincoln applied himself to the

profession of the law. During the greater portion of those years he

was in public life. He had part in all the political controversies of

his time. Chief among these were the troubles arising out of slavery.

From his boyhood Mr. Lincoln was a steady enemy to slavery, as at once

foolish and wrong. He would not interfere with it in the old States,

for there the Constitution gave him no power; but he would in noway

allow its establishment in the Territories. He desired a policy which

“looked forward hopefully to the time when slavery, as a wrong, might

come to an end.” He gained in a very unusual degree the confidence of

his party, who raised him to the presidential chair, as a true and

capable representative of their principles in regard to the great

slavery question.

CHAPTER XII.

SECESSION.

South Carolina was the least loyal to the Union of all the States. She

estimated very highly her own dignity as a sovereign State. She held in

small account the allegiance which she owed to the Federal Government.

Twenty-eight years ago Congress had enacted a highly protective

tariff. [Sidenote: 1832 A.D.] South Carolina, disapproving of this

measure, decreed that it was not binding upon her. Should the Federal

Government attempt to enforce it, South Carolina announced her purpose

of quitting the Union and becoming independent. General Jackson, who

was then President, made ready to hold South Carolina to her duty by

force; but Congress modified the tariff, and so averted the danger.

Jackson believed firmly that the men who then held the destiny of South

Carolina in their hands wished to secede. “The tariff,” he said, “was

but a pretext. The next will be the slavery question.”

[Sidenote: 1860 A.D.] The time predicted had now come, and South

Carolina led her sister States into the dark and bloody path. A

convention of her people was promptly called, and on the 20th of

December an Ordinance was passed dissolving the Union, and declaring

South Carolina a free and independent republic. When the Ordinance was

passed the bells of Charleston rang for joy, and the streets of the

city resounded with the wild exulting shouts of an excited people.

Dearly had the joy of those tumultuous hours to be paid for. Four

years later, when Sherman quelled the heroic defence of the rebel

city, Charleston lay in ruins. Her people, sorely diminished by war

and famine, had been long familiar with the miseries which a strict

blockade and a merciless bombardment can inflict.

The example of South Carolina was at once followed by other

discontented States. Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and

Florida hastened to assert their independence, and to league themselves

into a new Confederacy. They adopted a Constitution, differing from

the old mainly in these respects, that it contained provisions against

taxes to protect any branch of industry, and gave effective securities

for the permanence and extension of slavery. They elected Mr. Jefferson

Davis President for six years. They possessed themselves of the

Government property within their own boundaries. It was not yet their

opinion that the North would fight, and they bore themselves with a

high hand in all the arrangements which their new position seemed to

call for.

After the Government was formed, the Confederacy was joined by other

Slave States who at first had hesitated. Virginia, North Carolina,

Tennessee, Arkansas, and Texas, after some delay, gave in their

adhesion. The Confederacy in its completed form was composed of eleven

States, with a population of nine million; six million of whom were

free, and three million were slaves. Twenty-three States remained loyal

to the Union. Their population amounted to twenty-two million.

It is not to be supposed that the free population of the seceding

States were unanimous in their desire to break up the Union. On the

contrary, there is good reason to believe that a majority of the people

in most of the seceding States were all the time opposed to secession.

In North Carolina the attempt to carry secession was at first defeated

by the people. In the end that State left the Union reluctantly,

under the belief that not otherwise could it escape becoming the

battle-ground of the contending powers. Thus, too, Virginia refused

at first by large majorities to secede. In Georgia and Alabama the

minorities against secession were large. In Louisiana twenty thousand

votes were given for secession, and seventeen thousand against it. In

many cases it required much intrigue and dexterity of management to

obtain a favourable vote; and the resolution to quit the Union was

received in sorrow by very many of the Southern people. But everywhere

in the South the idea prevailed that allegiance was due to the State

rather than to the Federation. And thus it came to pass that when the

authorities of a State resolved to abandon the Union, the citizens of

that State felt constrained to secede, even while they mourned the

course upon which they were forced to enter.

It has been maintained by some defenders of the seceding States

that slavery was not the cause of secession. On that question there

can surely be no authority so good as that of the seceding States

themselves. A declaration of the reasons which influenced their

action was issued by several States, and acquiesced in by the others.

South Carolina was the first to give reasons for her conduct. These

reasons related wholly to slavery, no other cause of separation being

hinted at. The Northern States, it was complained, would not restore

runaway slaves. They assumed the right of “deciding on the propriety

of our domestic institutions.” They denounced slavery as sinful. They

permitted the open establishment of anti-slavery societies. They

aided the escape of slaves. They sought to exclude slavery from the

Territories. Finally, they had elected to the office of President,

Abraham Lincoln, “a man whose opinions and purposes are hostile to

slavery.”

Some of the American people had from the beginning held the opinion

that any State could leave the Union at her pleasure. That belief was

general in the South. The seceding States did not doubt that they had

full legal right to take the step which they had taken, and they stated

with perfect frankness what was their reason for exercising this

right. They believed that slavery was endangered by their continuance

in the Union. Strictly speaking, they fought in defence of their right

to secede. But they had no other motive for seceding than that slavery

should be preserved and extended. The war which ensued was therefore

really a war in defence of slavery. But for the Southern love and the

Northern antipathy to slavery, no war could have occurred. The men of

the South attempted to break up the Union because they thought slavery

would be safer if the Slave-owning States stood alone. The men of the

North refused to allow the Union to be broken up. They did not go to

war to put down slavery. They had no more right to put down slavery in

the South than England has to put down slavery in Cuba. The Union which

they loved was endangered, and they fought to defend the Union.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE TWO PRESIDENTS.

Mr. Lincoln was elected, according to usage, early in November, but did

not take possession of his office till March. In the interval President

Buchanan remained in power. This gentleman was Southern by birth, and,

as it has always been believed, by sympathy. He laid no arrest upon

the movements of the seceding States; nay, it has been alleged that he

rather sought to remove obstacles from their path. During all these

winter months the Southern leaders were suffered to push forward their

preparations for the approaching conflict. The North still hoped for

peace, and Congress busied itself with vain schemes of conciliation.

Meetings were held all over the country, at which an anxious desire

was expressed to remove causes of offence. The self-willed Southerners

would listen to no compromise. They would go apart, peacefully if they

might; in storm and bloodshed if they must.

[Sidenote: 1861 A.D.] Early in February Mr. Lincoln left his home in

Illinois on his way to Washington. His neighbours accompanied him to

the railroad depôt, where he spoke a few parting words to them. “I know

not,” he said, “how soon I shall see you again. A duty devolves upon

me, which is, perhaps, greater than that which has devolved upon any

other man since the days of Washington. He never would have succeeded

except for the aid of Divine Providence, upon which he at all times

relied. I feel that I cannot succeed without the same divine aid which

sustained him, and on the same Almighty Being I place my reliance for

support; and I hope you, my friends, will all pray that I may receive

that divine assistance without which I cannot succeed, but with which

success is certain.”

With these grave, devout words, he took his leave, and passed on to

the fulfilment of his heavy task. His inauguration took place as usual

on the 4th of March. A huge crowd assembled around the Capitol. Mr.

Lincoln had thus far kept silence as to the course he meditated in

regard to the seceding States. Seldom had a revelation involving issues

so momentous been waited for at the lips of any man. The anxious crowd

stood so still, that to its utmost verge the words of the speaker were

distinctly heard.

He assured the Southerners that their fears were unfounded. He had no

lawful right to interfere with slavery in the States where it existed;

he had no purpose and no inclination to interfere. He would, on the

contrary, maintain them in the enjoyment of all the rights which the

Constitution bestowed upon them. But he held that no State could quit

the Union at pleasure. In view of the Constitution and the laws, the

Union was unbroken. His policy would be framed upon that belief. He

would continue to execute the laws within the seceding States, and

would continue to possess Federal property there, with all the force at

his command. That did not necessarily involve conflict or bloodshed.

Government would not assail the discontented States, but would suffer

no invasion of its constitutional rights. With the South, therefore, it

lay to decide whether there was to be peace or war.

* * * * *

A week or two before Mr. Lincoln’s inauguration Jefferson Davis had

entered upon his career as President of the Southern Republic. Mr.

Davis was an old politician. He had long advocated the right of an

aggrieved State to leave the Union; and he had largely contributed, by

speech and by intrigue, to hasten the crisis which had now arrived. He

was an accomplished man, a graceful writer, a fluent and persuasive

speaker. He was ambitious, resolute, and of ample experience in

the management of affairs; but he had many disqualifications for

high office. His obstinacy was blind and unreasoning. He had little

knowledge of men, and could not distinguish “between an instrument and

an obstacle.” His moral tone was low. He taught Mississippi, his native

State, to repudiate her just debts. A great English statesman, who made

his acquaintance some years before the war broke out, pronounced him

one of the ablest and one of the most wicked men in America.

In his Inaugural Address Mr. Davis displayed a prudent reserve.

Speaking for the world to hear--a world which, upon the whole, abhorred

slavery--he did not name the grievances which rendered secession

necessary. He maintained the right of a discontented State to secede.

The Union had ceased to answer the ends for which it was established;

and in the exercise of an undoubted right they had withdrawn from

it. He hoped their late associates would not incur the fearful

responsibility of disturbing them in their pursuit of a separate

political career. If so, it only remained for them to appeal to arms,

and invoke the blessing of Providence on a just cause.

Alexander H. Stephens was the Vice-President of the Confederacy. His

health was bad, and the expression of his face indicated habitual

suffering. He had nevertheless been a laborious student, and a patient,

if not a very wise, thinker on the great questions of his time. In

the early days of secession he delivered at Savannah a speech which

quickly became famous, and which retains its interest still as the most

candid explanation of the motives and the expectations of the South.

The old Government, he said, was founded upon sand. It was founded

upon the assumption of the equality of races. Its authors entertained

the mistaken belief that African slavery was wrong in principle. “Our

new Government,” said the Vice-President, “is founded upon exactly the

opposite ideas; its foundations are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon

the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man--that

slavery is his natural and normal condition.” Why the Creator had made

him so could not be told. “It is not for us to inquire into the wisdom

of His ordinances, or to question them.” With this very clear statement

by the Vice-President, we are freed from uncertainty as to the designs

of the Southern leaders, and filled with thankfulness for the ruin

which fell upon their wicked enterprise.

It is a very curious but perfectly authenticated fact, that

notwithstanding the pains taken by Southern leaders to show that they

seceded merely to preserve and maintain slavery, there were many

intelligent men in England who steadfastly maintained that slavery had

little or nothing to do with the origin of the Great War.

Book Fourth.

CHAPTER I.

THE FIRST BLOW STRUCK.

When his Inaugural Address was delivered, Mr. Lincoln was escorted

by his predecessor in office back to the White House, where they

parted--Buchanan to retire, not with honour, into a kindly oblivion;

Lincoln to begin that great work which had devolved upon him. During

all that month of March and on to the middle of April the world heard

very little of the new President. He was seldom seen in Washington.

It was rumoured that intense meditation upon the great problem had

made him ill. It was asserted that he endured the pains of indecision.

In the Senate attempts were made to draw forth from him a confession

of his purposes--if indeed he had any purposes. But the grim silence

was unbroken. The South persuaded herself that he was afraid--that

the peace-loving, money-making North had no heart for fight. She was

even able to believe, in her vain pride, that most of the Northern

States would ultimately adopt her doctrines and join themselves to her

Government. Even in the North there was a party which wished union

with the seceding States, on their own principles. There was a general

indisposition to believe in war. The South had so often threatened,

and been so often soothed by fresh concessions, it was difficult to

believe now that she meant anything more than to establish a position

for advantageous negotiation. All over the world men waited in anxious

suspense for the revelation of President Lincoln’s policy. Mercantile

enterprise languished. Till the occupant of the White House chose to

open his lips and say whether it was peace or war, the business of the

world must be content to stand still.

Mr. Lincoln’s silence was not the result of irresolution. He had doubt

as to what the South would do; he had no doubt as to what he himself

would do. He would maintain the Union;--by friendly arrangement and

concession, if that were possible; if not, by war fought out to the

bitter end.

He nominated the members of his Cabinet--most prominent among whom was

William H. Seward, his Secretary of State. Mr. Seward had been during

all his public life a determined enemy to slavery. He was in full

sympathy with the President as to the course which had to be pursued.

His acute and vigorous intellect and great experience in public affairs

fitted him for the high duties which he was called to discharge.

* * * * *

So soon as Mr. Lincoln entered upon his office the Southern Government

sent ambassadors to him as to a foreign power. These gentlemen formally

intimated that the six States had withdrawn from the Union, and now

formed an independent nation. They desired to solve peaceably all the

questions growing out of this separation, and they desired an interview

with the President, that they might enter upon the business to which

they had been appointed.

Mr. Seward replied to the communication of the Southern envoys. His

letter was framed with much care, as its high importance demanded. It

was calm and gentle in its tone, but most clear and decisive. He could

not recognize the events which had recently occurred as a rightful

and accomplished revolution, but rather as a series of unjustifiable

aggressions. He could not recognize the new Government as a government

at all. He could not recognize or hold official intercourse with its

agents. The President could not receive them or admit them to any

communication. Within the unimpassioned words of Mr. Seward there

breathed the fixed, unalterable purpose of the Northern people, against

which, as many persons even then felt, the impetuous South might

indeed dash herself to pieces, but could by no possibility prevail.

The baffled ambassadors went home, and the angry South quickened her

preparations for war.

* * * * *

Within the bay of Charleston, and intended for the defence of that

important city, stood Fort Sumpter, a work of considerable strength,

and capable, if adequately garrisoned, of a prolonged defence. It was

not so garrisoned, however, when the troubles began. It was held by

Major Anderson with a force of seventy men, imperfectly provisioned.

The Confederates wished to possess themselves of Fort Sumpter, and

hoped at one time to effect their object peaceably. When that hope

failed them, they cut off Major Anderson’s supply of provisions, and

quietly began to encircle him with batteries. For some time they

waited till hunger should compel the surrender of the fort. But word

was brought to them that President Lincoln was sending ships with

provisions. [Sidenote: April 11, 1861 A.D.] Fort Sumpter was promptly

summoned to surrender. Major Anderson offered to go in three days, if

not relieved. In reply he received intimation that in one hour the

bombardment would open.

About daybreak on the 12th the stillness of Charleston bay was

disturbed by the firing of a large mortar and the shriek of a shell as

it rushed through the air. The shell burst over Fort Sumpter, and the

war of the Great Rebellion was begun. The other batteries by which the

doomed fortress was surrounded quickly followed, and in a few minutes

fifty guns of the largest size flung shot and shell into the works.

The guns were admirably served, and every shot told. The garrison had

neither provisions nor an adequate supply of ammunition. They were

seventy, and their assailants were seven thousand. All they could do

was to offer such resistance as honour demanded. Hope of success there

was none.

The garrison did not reply at first to the hostile fire. They

quietly breakfasted in the security of the bomb-proof casemates.

Having finished their repast, they opened a comparatively feeble and

ineffective fire. All that day and next the Confederate batteries

rained shell and red-hot shot into the fort. The wooden barracks caught

fire, and the men were nearly suffocated by the smoke. Barrels of

gunpowder had to be rolled through the flames into the sea. The last

cartridge had been loaded into the guns; the last biscuit had been

eaten; huge clefts yawned in the crumbling walls. Enough had been done

for honour; to prolong the resistance was uselessly to endanger the

lives of brave men. Major Anderson surrendered the ruined fortress, and

the garrison marched out with the honours of war. Curiously enough,

although heavy firing had continued during thirty-four hours, no man on

either side was injured!

It was a natural mistake that South Carolina should deem the capture

of Fort Sumpter a glorious victory. The bells of Charleston chimed

triumphantly all the day; guns were fired; the citizens were in the

streets expressing with many oaths the rapture which this great success

inspired, and their confident hope of triumphs equally decisive in

time to come; ministers gave thanks; ladies waved handkerchiefs; male

patriots quaffed potent draughts to the welfare of the Confederacy. On

that bright April Sunday all was enthusiasm and boundless excitement in

the city of Charleston. Alas for the vanity of human hopes! There were

days near at hand, and many of them too, when these rejoicing citizens

should sit in hunger and sorrow and despair among the ruins of their

city and the utter wreck of their fortunes and their trade.

* * * * *

By many of the Southern people war was eagerly desired. The Confederacy

was already established for some months, and yet it included only

six States. There were eight other Slave States, whose sympathies

it was believed were with the seceders. These had been expected to

join, but there proved to exist within them a loyalty to the Union

sufficiently strong to delay their secession. Amid the excitements

which war would enkindle, this loyalty, it was hoped, would disappear,

and the hesitating States would be constrained to join their fortunes

to those of their more resolute sisters. The fall of Fort Sumpter was

more than a military triumph. It would more than double the strength

of the Confederacy, and raise it at once to the rank of a great power.

Everywhere in the South, therefore, there was a wild, exulting joy. And

not without reason; for Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee, Arkansas,

and Texas now joined their sisters in secession.

* * * * *

In the North, the hope had been tenaciously clung to that the peace

of the country was not to be disturbed. This dream was rudely broken

by the siege of Fort Sumpter. The North awakened suddenly to the

awful certainty that civil war was begun. There was a deep feeling of

indignation at the traitors who were willing to ruin their country that

slavery might be secure. There was a full appreciation of the danger,

and an instant universal determination that, at whatever cost, the

national life must be preserved. Personal sacrifice was unconsidered;

individual interests were merged in the general good. Political

difference, ordinarily so bitter, was for the time almost effaced.

Nothing was of interest but the question how this audacious rebellion

was to be suppressed and the American nation upheld in the great place

which it claimed among men.

Two days after the fall of Fort Sumpter, Mr. Lincoln intimated, by

proclamation, the dishonour done to the laws of the United States, and

called out the militia to the extent of seventy-five thousand men.

The Free States responded enthusiastically to the call. So prompt was

their action, that on the very next day several companies arrived

in Washington. Flushed by their easily-won victory, the Southerners

talked boastfully of seizing the capital. In a very short space there

were fifty thousand loyal men ready to prevent that, and the safety of

Washington was secured.

The North pushed forward with boundless energy her warlike

preparations. Rich men offered money with so much liberality that in

a few days nearly five million sterling had been contributed. The

school-teachers of Boston dedicated fixed proportions of their incomes

to the support of the Government, while the war should last. All

over the country the excited people gathered themselves into crowded

meetings, and breathed forth in fervid resolutions their determination

to spend fortune and life in defence of the Union. Volunteer companies

were rapidly formed. In the cities ladies began to organize themselves

for the relief of sick and wounded soldiers. It had been fabled that

the North would not fight. With a fiery promptitude unknown before in

modern history the people sprang to arms.

* * * * *

Even yet there was on both sides a belief that the war would be a short

one. The South, despising an adversary unpractised in war, and vainly

trusting that the European powers would interfere in order to secure

their wonted supplies of cotton, expected that a few victories more

would bring peace. The North still regarded secession as little more

than a gigantic riot, which she proposed to extinguish within ninety

days. The truth was strangely different from the prevailing belief of

the day. A high-spirited people, six million in number, occupying a

fertile territory nearly a million square miles in extent, had risen

against the Government. The task undertaken by the North was to conquer

this people, and by force of arms to bring them and their territory

back to the Union. This was not likely to prove a work of easy

accomplishment.

CHAPTER II.

THE BATTLE OF BULL RUN.

When the North addressed herself to her task, her own capital was still

threatened by the rebels. Two or three miles down the Potomac, and full

in view of Washington, lies the old-fashioned decaying Virginian town

of Alexandria, where the unfortunate Braddock had landed his troops a

century before. The Confederate flag floated over Alexandria. A rebel

force was marching on Harper’s Ferry, forty miles from Washington; and

as the Government works there could not be defended, they were burned.

Preparations were being made to seize Arlington Heights, from which

Washington could be easily shelled. At Manassas Junction, thirty miles

away, a rebel army lay encamped. It seemed to many foreign observers

that the North might lay aside all thought of attack, and be well

pleased if she succeeded in the defence of what was still left to her.

But the Northern people, never doubting either their right or their

strength, put their hand boldly to the work. The first thing to be

done was to shut the rebels in so that no help could reach them from

the world outside. They could grow food enough; but they were a people

who could make little. They needed from Europe supplies of arms and

ammunition, of clothing, of medicine. They needed money, which they

could only get by sending away their cotton. To stop their intercourse

with Europe was to inflict a blow which would itself prove almost

fatal. Four days after the fall of Fort Sumpter, Mr. Lincoln announced

the blockade of all the rebel ports. It was a little time after till

he had ships enough to make the blockade effective. But in a few

weeks this was done, and every rebel port was closed. The grasp thus

established was never relaxed. So long as the war lasted, the South

obtained foreign supplies only from vessels which carried on the

desperate trade of blockade-running.

Virginia completed her secession on the 23rd April. Next morning

Federal troops seized and fortified Alexandria and the Arlington

Heights. In the western portions of Virginia the people were so little

in favour of secession that they wished to establish themselves as a

separate State, loyal to the Union. With no very serious trouble the

rebel forces were driven out of this region, and Western Virginia was

restored to the Union. Desperate attempts were made by the disloyal

Governor of Missouri to carry his State out of the Union, against the

wish of a majority of the people. It was found possible to defeat the

efforts of the secessionists and retain Missouri. Throughout the war

this State was grievously wasted by Southern raids, but she held fast

her loyalty.

* * * * *

Thus at the opening of the war substantial advantages had been gained

by the North. They were not, however, of a sufficiently brilliant

character fully to satisfy the expectations of the excited people.

A great battle must be won. Government, unwisely yielding to the

pressure, ordered their imperfectly disciplined troops to advance and

attack the rebels in their position at Manassas Junction.

* * * * *

General Beauregard lay at Manassas with a rebel force variously

estimated at from thirty thousand to forty thousand men. In front of

his position ran the little stream of Bull Run, in a narrow, wooded

valley--the ground rising on both sides into “bluffs,” crowned with

frequent patches of dense wood. General M’Dowell moved to attack him,

with an army about equal in strength. [Sidenote: July 21, 1861 A.D.]

It was early Sunday morning when the army set out from its quarters at

Centreville. The march was not over ten miles, but the day was hot,

and the men not yet inured to hardship. It was ten o’clock when the

battle fairly opened. From the heights on the northern bank of the

stream the Federal artillery played upon the enemy. The Southern line

stretched well nigh ten miles, and M’Dowell hoped, by striking with an

overwhelming force at a point on the enemy’s right, to roll back his

entire line in confusion. Heavy masses of infantry forded the stream

and began the attack. The Southerners fought bravely and skilfully,

but at the point of attack they were inferior in number, and they were

driven back. The battle spread away far among the woods, and soon every

copse held its group of slain and wounded men. By three o’clock the

Federals reckoned the battle as good as won, for the enemy, though

still fighting, was falling back. But at that hour railway trains ran

close up to the field of battle with fifteen thousand Southerners

fresh and eager for the fray. This new force was hurried into action.

The wearied Federals could not endure the vehemence of the attack;

they broke, and fled down the hill-side. With inexperienced troops a

measured and orderly retreat is impossible; defeat is quickly followed

by panic. The men who had fought so bravely all the day now hurried in

wild confusion from the field. The road was choked with a tangled mass

of baggage-waggons, artillery, soldiers and civilians frenzied by fear,

and cavalry riding wildly through the quaking mob. But the Southerners

attempted no pursuit, and the panic passed away. Scarcely an attempt,

however, was made to stop the flight. Order was not restored till the

worn-out men made their way back to Washington.

This was the first great battle of the war, and its results were of

prodigious importance. By the sanguine men of the South it was hailed

as decisive of their final success. President Davis counted upon the

immediate recognition of the Confederacy by the Great Powers of Europe

as now certain. The newspapers accepted it as a settled truth that

“one Southerner was equal to five Yankees.” Intrigues began for the

succession to the presidential chair--six years hence. A controversy

arose among the States as to the location of the Capital. The success

of the Confederacy was regarded as a thing beyond doubt. Enlistment

languished; it was scarcely worth while to undergo the inconvenience of

fighting for a cause which was already triumphant.

* * * * *

The defeat at Manassas taught the people of the North that the task

they had undertaken was a heavier task than they supposed, but it did

not shake their steady purpose to perform it. On the day after the

battle--while the routed army was swarming into Washington--Congress

voted five hundred million dollars, and called for half a million of

volunteers. A few days later, Congress unanimously resolved that the

suppression of the rebellion was a sacred duty, from the performance

of which no disaster should discourage; to which they pledged the

employment of every resource, national and individual. “Having chosen

our course,” said Mr. Lincoln, “without guile, and with pure purpose,

let us renew our trust in God, and go forward without fear and with

manly hearts.” The spirit of the North rose as the greatness of the

enterprise became apparent. No thought was there of any other issue

from the national agony than the overthrow of the national foe. The

youth of the country crowded into the ranks. The patriotic impulse

possessed rich and poor alike, and the sons of wealthy men shouldered

a musket side by side with the penniless children of toil. Once, by

some accident, the money which should have paid a New England regiment

failed to arrive in time. A private in the regiment gave his cheque

for a hundred thousand dollars, and the men were paid. The Christian

churches yielded an earnest support to the war. In some western

churches the men enlisted almost without exception. Occasionally their

ministers accompanied them. Sabbath-school teachers and members of

young men’s Christian associations were remarkable for the eagerness

with which they obeyed the call of their country. It was no longer a

short war and an easy victory which the North anticipated. The gigantic

character of the struggle was at length recognized; and the North,

chastened, but undismayed, made preparations for a contest on the issue

of which her existence depended.

CHAPTER III.

“ON TO RICHMOND.”

General M’Dowell had led the Northern army to a defeat which naturally

shook public confidence in his ability to command. A new general was

indispensable. When the war broke out, a young man--George B. M’Clellan

by name--was resident in Cincinnati, peacefully occupied with the

management of a railroad. He was trained at West Point, and had a high

reputation for soldiership. Several years before, Mr. Cobden was told

by Jefferson Davis that M’Clellan was one of the best generals the

country possessed. He was skilful to construct and organize, but his

power to direct successfully the movements of great armies engaged in

actual warfare was still unproved.

General M’Clellan was appointed to the command of the army a few days

after the defeat at Bull Run, and sanguine hopes were entertained

that he was about to give the people victory over their enemies. He

addressed himself at once to his task. From every State in the North

men hastened to his standard. He disciplined them and perfected their

equipment for the field. In October he was at the head of two hundred

thousand men--the largest army ever yet seen on the American continent.

* * * * *

The rebel Government, which at first chose for its home the city of

Montgomery in Alabama, moved to Richmond so soon as Virginia gave

in her reluctant adherence to the secession cause. Richmond, the gay

capital of the Old Dominion, sits queen-like upon a lofty plateau,

with deep valleys flanking her on east and west, and the James river

rushing past far below upon the south--not many miles from the point

where the “dissolute” fathers of the colony had established themselves

two centuries and a half ago. To Washington the distance is only one

hundred and thirty miles. The warring Governments were within a few

hours’ journey of each other.

The supreme command of the rebel forces was committed to General

Robert E. Lee--one of the greatest of modern soldiers. He was a calm,

thoughtful, unpretending man, whose goodness gained for him universal

love. He was opposed to secession, but believing, like the rest, that

he owed allegiance wholly to his own State, he seceded with Virginia.

It was his difficult task to contend nearly always with forces stronger

than his own, and to eke out by his own skill and genius the scanty

resources of the Confederacy. His consummate ability maintained the war

long after all hope of success was gone; and when at length he laid

down his arms, even the country against which he had fought was proud

of her erring but noble son.

Thomas Jackson--better known as “Stonewall Jackson”--was the most

famous of Lee’s generals. In him we have a strange evidence of the

influence which slavery exerts upon the best of men. He was of truly

heroic mould--brave, generous, devout. His military perception was

unerring; his decision swift as lightning. He rose early in the morning

to read the Scriptures and pray. He gave a tenth part of his income

for religious uses; he taught a Sunday class of negro children; he

delivered lectures on the authenticity of Scripture; when he dropped a

letter into the post-office, he prayed for a blessing on the person to

whom it was addressed. As his soldiers marched past his erect, unmoving

figure, to meet the enemy, they saw his lips move, and knew that their

leader was praying for them to Him who “covereth the head in the

day of battle.” And yet this good man caused his negroes--male and

female--to be flogged when he judged that severity needful. And yet he

recommended that the South should “take no prisoners”--in other words,

that enemies who had ceased to resist should be massacred. To the end

of his life he remained of opinion that the rejection of this policy

was a mistake. So fatally do the noblest minds become tainted by the

associations of slave society.

* * * * *

During the autumn and early winter of 1861 the weather was unusually

fine, and the roads were consequently in excellent condition for the

march of an army. The rebel forces were scattered about Virginia--some

of them within sight of Washington. Around Richmond it was understood

there were few troops. It seemed easy for M’Clellan, with his

magnificent army, to trample down any slight resistance which could be

offered, and march into the rebel capital. For many weeks the people

and the Government waited patiently. They had been too hasty before;

they would not again urge their general prematurely into battle. But

the months of autumn passed, and no blow was struck. Winter was upon

them, and still “all was quiet on the Potomac.” M’Clellan, in a series

of brilliant reviews, presented his splendid army to the admiration of

his countrymen; but he was not yet ready to fight. The country bore

the delay for six months. Then it could be endured no longer, and in

January Mr. Lincoln issued a peremptory order that a movement against

the enemy should be made. M’Clellan now formed a plan of operations,

and by the end of March was ready to begin his work.

* * * * *

South-eastward from Richmond the James and the York rivers fall into

Chesapeake bay at a distance from each other of some twenty miles.

The course of the rivers is nearly parallel, and the region between

them is known as the Peninsula. M’Clellan conveyed his army down the

Potomac, landed at Fortress Monroe, and prepared to march upon Richmond

by way of the Peninsula.

Before him lay the little town of Yorktown--where, eighty years before,

the War of Independence was closed by the surrender of the English

army. Yorktown was held by eleven thousand rebels. M’Clellan had over

one hundred thousand well-disciplined men eager for battle. But he

deemed it injudicious to assault the place, and preferred to operate in

the way of a formal siege. The rebels waited till he was ready to open

his batteries--and then quietly marched away.

M’Clellan moved slowly up the Peninsula. In six weeks he was within

a few miles of Richmond, and in front of the forces which the rebels

had been actively collecting for the defence of their capital. These

forces were now so strong that M’Clellan deemed himself outnumbered,

and sought the protection of his gunboats on the James river. The

emboldened rebels dashed at his retreating ranks. His march to the

James river occupied seven days, and on every day there was a battle.

Nearly always the Federals had the advantage in the fight. Always after

the fight they resumed their retreat. Once they drove back the enemy,

inflicting upon him a crushing defeat. Their hopes rose with success,

and they demanded to be led back to Richmond. M’Clellan shunned the

great enterprise which opened before him, and never rested from his

march till he lay in safety, sheltered by the gunboats on the James

river. He had lost fifteen thousand men; but the rebels had suffered

even more. It was said that the retreat was skilfully conducted, but

the American people were in no humour to appreciate the merits of a

chief who was great only in flight. Their disappointment was intense.

The Southern leaders devoutly announced “undying gratitude to God” for

their great success, and looked forward with increasing confidence to

their final triumph over an enemy whose assaults it seemed so easy to

repulse.

Nor was this the only success which crowned the rebel arms. The most

remarkable battle of the war was fought while M’Clellan was preparing

for his advance; and it ended in a rebel victory.

At the very beginning of the war the Confederates bethought them of

an iron-clad ship of war. They took hold of an old frigate which the

Federals had sunk in the James river. They sheathed her in iron plates;

they roofed her with iron rails. At her prow, beneath the water-line,

they fitted an iron-clad projection, which might be driven into the

side of an adversary. They armed her with ten guns of large size.

The mechanical resources of the Confederacy were defective, and this

novel structure was eight months in preparation. [Sidenote: 1862 A.D.]

One morning in March she steamed slowly down the James river, attended

by five small vessels of the ordinary sort. A powerful Northern fleet

lay guarding the mouth of the river. The _Virginia_--as the iron-clad

had been named--came straight towards the hostile ships. She fired no

shot; no man showed himself upon her deck. The Federals assailed her

with well-aimed discharges; but the shot bounded harmless from her

sides. She steered for the _Cumberland_, into whose timbers she struck

her armed prow. A huge cleft opened in the _Cumberland’s_ side, and the

gallant ship went down with a hundred men of her crew on board. The

_Virginia_ next attacked the Federal ship _Congress_. At a distance of

two hundred yards she opened her guns upon this ill-fated vessel. The

_Congress_ was aground, and could offer no effective resistance. After

sustaining heavy loss, she was forced to surrender. Night approached,

and the _Virginia_ drew off, intending to resume her work on the morrow.

Early next morning--a bright Sunday morning--she steamed out, and made

for the _Minnesota_--a Federal ship which had been grounded to get

beyond her reach. The _Minnesota_ was still aground, and helpless.

Beside her, however, as the men on board the _Virginia_ observed, lay

a mysterious structure, resembling nothing they had ever seen before.

Her deck was scarcely visible above the water, and it supported nothing

but an iron turret nine feet high. This was the _Monitor_, designed by

Captain Ericsson;--the first of the class of iron-clad turret-ships. By

a singular chance she had arrived thus opportunely. The two iron-clads

measured their strength in combat, but their shot produced no

impression, and after two hours of heavy but ineffective firing, they

separated, and the _Virginia_ retired up the James river.

This fight opened a new era in naval warfare. The Washington Government

hastened to build turret-ships. All European Governments, perceiving

the worthlessness of ships of the old type, proceeded to reconstruct

their navies according to the light which the action of the _Virginia_

and the _Monitor_ afforded them.

* * * * *

The efforts of the North to crush the rebel forces in Virginia had

signally failed. But military operations were not confined to Virginia:

in this war the battle-field was the continent. Many hundreds of miles

from the scene of M’Clellan’s unsuccessful efforts, the banner of the

Union was advancing into the revolted territory. The North sought to

occupy the Border States, and to repossess the line of the Mississippi,

thus severing Texas, Louisiana, and Arkansas from the other members of

the secession enterprise, and perfecting the blockade which was now

effectively maintained on the Atlantic coast. There were troops enough

for these vast operations. By the 1st of December 1861, six hundred

and forty thousand men had enrolled themselves for the war. The North,

thoroughly aroused now, had armed and drilled these enormous hosts.

Her foundries worked night and day, moulding cannon and mortars. Her

own resources could not produce with sufficient rapidity the gunboats

which she needed to assert her supremacy on the western waters, but she

obtained help from the building-yards of Europe. All that wealth and

energy could do was done. While the Confederates were supinely trusting

to the difficulties of the country and the personal prowess of their

soldiers, the North massed forces which nothing on the continent could

long resist. In the south and west results were achieved not unworthy

of these vast preparations.

[Sidenote: 1861 A.D.] During the autumn a strong fleet was sent

southward to the Carolina coast. Overcoming with ease the slight

resistance which the rebel forts were able to offer, the expedition

possessed itself of Port Royal, and thus commanded a large tract of

rebel territory. It was a cotton-growing district, worked wholly by

slaves. The owners fled, but the slaves remained. The first experiment

was made here to prove whether the negro would labour when the lash did

not compel, and the results were most encouraging. The negroes worked

cheerfully and patiently, and many of them became rich from the easy

gains of labour on that rich soil.

In the west the war was pushed vigorously and with success. To General

Grant--a strong, tenacious, silent man, destined ere long to be

Commander-in-Chief and President--was assigned the work of driving the

rebels out of Kentucky and Tennessee. His gunboats ran up the great

rivers of these States and took effective part in the battles which

were fought. The rebels were forced southward, till in the spring of

1862 the frontier line of rebel territory no longer enclosed Kentucky.

Even Tennessee was held with a loosened and uncertain grasp.

[Sidenote: March 1862 A.D.] In Arkansas, beyond the Mississippi, was

fought the Battle of Pea Ridge, which stretched over three days, and in

which the rebels received a sharp defeat. Henceforth the rebels had no

footing in Missouri or in Arkansas.

New Orleans fell in April. Admiral Farragut with a powerful fleet

forced his way past the forts and gunboats which composed the

insufficient defence of the city. There was no army to resist him. He

landed a small party of marines, who pulled down the Secession flag and

restored that of the Union. The people looked on silently, while the

city passed thus easily away for ever from Confederate rule.

There was gloom in the rebel capital as the tidings of these disasters

came in. But the spirit of the people was unbroken, and the Government

was encouraged to adopt measures equal to the emergency. A law was

enacted which placed at the disposal of the Government every man

between eighteen and thirty-five years of age. Enlistment for short

terms was discontinued. Henceforth the business of Southern men must

be war, and every man must hold himself at his country’s call. This

law yielded for a time an adequate supply of soldiers, and ushered in

those splendid successes which cherished the delusive hope that the

Slave-power was to establish itself as one of the Great Powers of the

world.

CHAPTER IV.

LIBERTY TO THE CAPTIVE.

The slave question, out of which the rebellion sprang, presented

for some time grave difficulties to the Northern Government. As the

Northern armies forced their way southwards, escaped slaves flocked

to them. These slaves were loyal subjects; their owners were rebels

in arms against the Government. Could the Government recognize the

right of the rebel to own the loyal man? Again: the labour of the

slaves contributed to the support of the rebellion. Was it not a clear

necessity of war that Government should deprive the rebellion of this

support by freeing all the slaves whom its authority could reach?

But, on the other hand, some of the Slave States remained loyal. Over

their slaves Government had no power, and much care was needed that no

measure should be adopted of which they could justly complain.

The President had been all his life a steady foe to slavery, but he

never forgot that, whatever his own feelings might be, he was strictly

bound by law. His duty as President was, not to destroy slavery, but to

save the Union. When the time came to overthrow this accursed system,

he would do it with gladdened heart. Meanwhile he said, “If I could

save the Union without freeing any slave, I would do it; if I could

save it by freeing all the slaves, I would do it; and if I could save

it by freeing some and leaving others alone, I would do it.”

From the very beginning of the war escaped slaves crowded within the

Federal lines. They were willing to perform any labour, or to fight

in a cause which they all knew to be their own. But the North was not

yet freed from her habitual tenderness for Southern institutions. The

negroes could not yet be armed. Nay, it was permitted to the owners of

escaped slaves to enter the Northern lines and forcibly to carry back

their property. [Sidenote: May 26, 1861 A.D.] General M’Clellan pledged

himself not only to avoid interference with slaves, but to crush with

an iron hand any attempt at insurrection on their part. [Sidenote:

Aug. 31.] General Fremont, commanding in Missouri, issued an order

which gave liberty to the slaves of persons who were fighting against

the Union. The President, not yet deeming that measure indispensable,

disallowed it. A little later it was proposed to arm the blacks, but to

that also the President objected. He would do nothing prematurely which

might offend the loyal Slave States, and so hinder the restoration of

the Union.

But in War opinion ripens fast. Men quickly learned, under that stern

teacher, to reason that, as slavery had caused the rebellion, slavery

should be extinguished. Congress met in December, with ideas which

pointed decisively towards Abolition. Measures were passed which marked

a great era in the history of slavery. The slaves of men who were in

arms against the Government were declared to be free. Coloured men

might be armed and employed as soldiers. Slavery was abolished within

the District of Columbia. Slavery was prohibited for ever within all

the Territories. Every slave escaping to the Union armies was to be

free. Wherever the authority of Congress could reach, slavery was now

at an end.

But something yet remained. Public sentiment in the North grew strong

in favour of immediate and unconditional emancipation of all slaves

within the revolted States. This view was pressed upon Lincoln. He

hesitated long; not from reluctance, but because he wished the public

mind to be thoroughly made up before he took this decisive step. At

length his course was resolved upon. [Sidenote: July, 1862 A.D.] He

drew up a Proclamation, which gave freedom to all the slaves in the

rebel States. He called a meeting of his Cabinet, which cordially

sanctioned the measure. After New Year’s Day of 1863 all persons held

to slavery within the seceded territory were declared to be free. “And

upon this act”--thus was the Proclamation closed--“sincerely believed

to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution upon military

necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind, and the

gracious favour of Almighty God.”

This--one of the most memorable of all State papers--gave freedom

to over three million slaves. It did not touch slavery in the loyal

States; for there the President had no authority to interfere. But all

men knew that it involved the abolition of slavery in the loyal as well

as in the rebellious States. Henceforth slavery became impossible on

any portion of American territory.

The deep significance of this great measure was most fully recognized

by the Northern people. The churches gave thanks to God for this

fulfilment of their long-cherished desire. Congress expressed its

cordial approval. Innumerable public meetings resolved that the

President’s action deserved the support of the country. Bells pealed

joyfully in the great cities and quiet villages of the east, and in

the infant settlements of the distant west. Charles Sumner begged from

the President the pen with which the Proclamation had been signed. The

original draft of the document was afterwards sold for a large sum, at

a fair held in Chicago for the benefit of the soldiers.

The South, too, understood this transaction perfectly. It was the

triumphant and final expression of that Northern abhorrence to slavery

which had provoked the slave-owners to rebel. It made reconciliation

impossible. President Davis said to his Congress that it would calm

the fears of those who apprehended a restoration of the old Union.

It is a painful reflection that the English Government utterly

misunderstood this measure. Its official utterance on the subject was

a sneer. Earl Russell, the Foreign Secretary of that day, wrote to our

ambassador at Washington that the Proclamation was “a measure of a

very questionable kind.” “It professes,” he continued, “to emancipate

slaves where the United States cannot make emancipation a reality, but

emancipates no one where the decree can be carried into effect.” Thus

imperfectly had Earl Russell yet been able to comprehend this memorable

page of modern history.

CHAPTER V.

CONFEDERATE SUCCESSES.

M’Clellan’s ignominious failure disappointed but did not dishearten the

Northern people. While M’Clellan was hasting away from Richmond, the

Governors of seventeen States assured the President of the readiness

of their people to furnish troops. The President issued a call for an

additional three hundred thousand men; and his call was promptly obeyed.

M’Clellan lay for two months, secure but inglorious, beside his

gunboats on the James river. General Lee, rightly deeming that there

was little to fear from an army so feebly led, ranged northwards with a

strong force and threatened Washington. The Federal troops around the

capital were greatly inferior in number. President Lincoln summoned

M’Clellan northwards. M’Clellan was, as usual, unready; and a small

Federal army under General Pope was left to cope unaided with the

enemy. Pope received a severe defeat at Manassas, and retired to the

fortifications of Washington.

[Sidenote: Sept. 17, 1862 A.D.] General Lee was strong enough now to

carry the war into Northern territory. He captured Harper’s Ferry,

and passed into Maryland. M’Clellan was at length stimulated to

action, and having carried his troops northwards, he attacked Lee at

Antietam. The Northern army far outnumbered the enemy. The battle was

long and bloody. When darkness sank down upon the wearied combatants

no decisive advantage had been gained. M’Clellan’s generals urged a

renewal of the attack next morning. But this was not done, and General

Lee crossed the Potomac and retired unmolested into Virginia. M’Clellan

resumed his customary inactivity. The President ordered him to pursue

the enemy and give battle. He even wished him to move on Richmond,

which he was able to reach before Lee could possibly be there. In vain.

M’Clellan could not move. His horses had sore tongues and sore backs;

they were lame; they were broken down by fatigue. Lincoln had already

been unduly patient. But the country would endure no more. [Sidenote:

Nov. 5, 1862 A.D.] General M’Clellan was removed from command of that

army whose power he had so long been able to neutralize; and his place

was taken by General Burnside.

Burnside at once moved his army southwards, for it was not yet too late

for a Virginian campaign. He reached the banks of the Rappahannock,

beside the little town of Fredericksburg. He had to wait there for many

weary days till he obtained means to cross the river. While he lay,

impatient, General Lee concentrated all the forces under his command

upon the heights which rose steeply from the opposite bank of the

stream. He threw up earthworks and strongly intrenched his position.

There he waited in calmness for the assault which he knew he could

repel.

When Burnside was able to cross the Rappahannock, he lost no time in

making his attack. One portion of his force would strike the enemy

on his right flank; the rest would push straight up the heights and

assault him in front. A slight success in the flanking movement cheered

General Burnside. But in the centre his troops advanced to the attack

under a heavy fire of artillery which laid many brave men low. The

Northern soldiers fought their way with steady courage up the height.

They were superior in numbers, but the rebels fought in safety within

a position which was impregnable. The battle was no fair trial of skill

and courage, but a useless waste of brave lives. Burnside drew off his

troops and re-crossed the Rappahannock, with a loss of twelve thousand

men--vainly sacrificed in the attempt to perform an impossibility.

* * * * *

In the west there had been no great success to counter-balance the long

train of Confederate victories in the east. The year closed darkly

upon the hopes of those who strove to preserve the Union. The South

counted with certainty that her independence was secure. The prevailing

opinion of Europe regarded the enterprise which the North pursued

so resolutely, as a wild impossibility. But the Northern people and

Government never despaired of the Commonwealth. At the gloomiest period

of the contest a Bill was passed for the construction of a railroad

to the Pacific. The Homestead Act offered a welcome to immigrants in

the form of a free grant of one hundred and sixty acres of land to

each. And the Government, as with a quiet and unburdened mind, began

to enlarge and adorn its Capitol on a scale worthy of the expected

greatness of the reunited country.

CHAPTER VI.

THE WAR CONTINUES.

Hitherto the men who had fought for the North had been volunteers.

They had come when the President called, willing to lay down their

lives for their country. Already volunteers had been enrolled to the

number of one million and a quarter. But that number had been sadly

reduced by wounds, sickness, and captivity, and the Northern armies

had not proved themselves strong enough to crush the rebellion.

[Sidenote: 1863 A.D.] A Bill was now passed which subjected the entire

male population, between eighteen and forty-five, to military duty when

their service was required. Any man of suitable age could now be forced

into the ranks.

The blockade of the Southern ports had effected for many months an

almost complete isolation of the Confederates from the world outside.

Now and then a ship, laden with arms and clothing and medicine, ran

past the blockading squadron, and discharged her precious wares in a

Southern port. Now and then a ship laden with cotton stole out and

got safely to sea. But this perilous and scanty commerce afforded no

appreciable relief to the want which had already begun to brood over

this doomed people. The Government could find soldiers enough; but it

could not find for them arms and clothing. The railroads could not be

kept in working condition in the absence of foreign iron. Worst of all,

a scarcity of food began to threaten. [Sidenote: April 10, 1863 A.D.]

Jefferson Davis begged his people to lay aside all thought of gain, and

devote themselves to the raising of supplies for the army. Even now the

army was frequently on half supply of bread. The South could look back

with just pride upon a long train of brilliant victories, gained with

scanty means, by her own valour and genius. But, even in this hour of

triumph, it was evident that her position was desperate.

The North had not yet completely established her supremacy upon the

Mississippi. Two rebel strongholds--Vicksburg and Port Hudson--had

successfully resisted Federal attack, and maintained communication

between the revolted provinces on either side the great river. The

reduction of these was indispensable. General Grant was charged with

the important enterprise, and proceeded in February to begin his work.

Grant found himself with his army on the wrong side of the city. He

was up stream from Vicksburg, and he could not hope to win the place

by attacks on that side. Nor could he easily convey his army and siege

appliances through the swamps and lakes which stretched away behind the

city. It seemed too hazardous to run his transports past the guns of

Vicksburg. He attempted to cut a new channel for the river, along which

he might convey his army safely. Weeks were spent in the vain attempt,

and the country, which had not yet learned to trust in Grant, became

impatient of the unproductive toil. Grant, undismayed by the failure

of his project, adopted a new and more hopeful scheme. He conveyed his

soldiers across to the western bank of the Mississippi, and marched

them southward till they were below Vicksburg. There they were ferried

across the river; and then they stood within reach of the weakest

side of the city. The transports were ordered to run the batteries of

Vicksburg and take the chances of that enterprise.

When Grant reached the position he sought, he had a difficult task

before him. One large army held Vicksburg; another large army was

gathering for the relief of the endangered fortress. Soon Grant lay

between two armies which, united, greatly outnumbered his. But he had

no intention that they should unite. He attacked them in detail, and in

every action he was successful. The Confederates were driven back upon

the city, which was then closely invested.

For six weeks Grant pressed the siege with a fiery energy which allowed

no rest to the besieged. General Johnston was not far off, mustering

an army for the relief of Vicksburg, and there was not an hour to

lose. Grant kept a strict blockade upon the scantily-provisioned city.

From his gunboats and from his own lines he maintained an almost

ceaseless bombardment. The inhabitants crept into caves in the hill to

find shelter from the intolerable fire. They slaughtered their mules

for food. They patiently endured the inevitable hardships of their

position; and their daily newspaper, printed on scraps of such paper as

men cover their walls with, continued to the end to make light of their

sufferings, and to breathe defiance against General Grant. But all was

vain. On the 4th of July--the anniversary of Independence--Vicksburg

was surrendered with her garrison of twenty-three thousand men much

enfeebled by hunger and fatigue.

The fall of Vicksburg was the heaviest blow which the Confederacy had

yet sustained. Nearly one-half of the rebel territory lay beyond the

Mississippi. That river was now firmly held by the Federals. The rebel

States were cut in two, and no help could pass from one section to the

other. There was deep joy in the Northern heart. The President thanked

General Grant for “the almost inestimable service” which he had done to

the country.

* * * * *

But long before Grant’s triumph at Vicksburg another humiliation had

fallen upon the Federal arms in Virginia.

Soon after the disaster at Fredericksburg, the modest Burnside had

asked to be relieved of his command. General Hooker took his place.

The new chief was familiarly known to his countrymen as “fighting Joe

Hooker,”--a title which sufficiently indicated his dashing, reckless

character. Hooker entered on his command with high hopes. “By the

blessing of God,” he said to the army, “we will contribute something to

the renown of our arms and the success of our cause.”

After three months of preparation, General Hooker announced that his

army was irresistible. The Northern cry was still, “On to Richmond;”

the dearest wish of the Northern people was to possess the rebel

capital. Hooker marched southward, nothing doubting that he was to

fulfil the long frustrated desire of his countrymen. His confidence

seemed not to be unwarranted; for he had under his command a

magnificent army, which greatly outnumbered that opposed to him. But,

unhappily for Hooker, the hostile forces were led by General Lee and

Stonewall Jackson.

On the 1st of May, Hooker was in presence of the enemy on the line

of the Rappahannock. Lee was too weak to give or accept battle; but

he was able to occupy Hooker with a series of sham attacks. All the

while Jackson was hasting to assail his flank. His march was through

the Wilderness--a wild country thick with ill-grown oaks and a dense

undergrowth--where surprise was easy. Towards evening, on the 2nd,

Jackson’s soldiers burst upon the unexpectant Federals. The fury of the

attack bore all before it. The Federal line fell back in confusion and

with heavy loss.

In the twilight Jackson rode forward with his staff to examine the

enemy’s position. As he returned, a North Carolina regiment, seeing

a party of horsemen approach, presumed it was a charge of Federal

cavalry. They fired, and Jackson fell from his horse, with two bullets

in his left arm and one through his right hand. They placed him on a

litter to carry him from the field. One of the bearers was shot down

by the enemy, and the wounded general fell heavily to the ground. The

sound of musketry wakened the Federal artillery, and for some time

Jackson lay helpless on ground swept by the cannon of the enemy. When

his men learned the situation of their beloved commander, they rushed

in and carried him from the danger.

Jackson sunk under his wounds. He bore patiently his great suffering.

“If I live, it will be for the best,” he said; “and if I die, it will

be for the best. God knows and directs all things for the best.” He

died eight days after the battle, to the deep sorrow of his countrymen.

He was a great soldier; and although he died fighting for an evil

cause, he was a true-hearted Christian man.

During two days after Jackson fell the battle continued at

Chancellorsville. Lee’s superior skill in command more than compensated

for his inferior numbers. He attacked Hooker, and always at the point

of conflict he was found to be stronger. Hooker discovered that he

must retreat, lest a worse thing should befall him. After three days’

fighting he crossed the river in a tempest of wind and rain, and along

the muddy Virginian roads carried his disheartened troops back to their

old positions. He had been baffled by a force certainly not more than

one-half his own. The splendid military genius of Lee was perhaps never

more conspicuous than in the defeat of that great army which General

Hooker himself regarded as invincible.

CHAPTER VII.

GETTYSBURG.

The Confederate Government had always been eager to carry the contest

into Northern territory. It was satisfying to the natural pride of the

South, and it was thought that some experience of the evils of war

might incline the Northern mind to peace. Lee was ordered to march

into Pennsylvania. He gathered all the troops at his disposal, and

with seventy-five thousand men he crossed the Potomac, and was once

more prepared to face the enemy on his own soil. The rich cities of

the North trembled. It was not unlikely that he should possess himself

of Baltimore and Philadelphia. Could he once again defeat Hooker’s

army, as he had often done before, no further resistance was possible.

Pennsylvania and New York were at his mercy.

Lee advanced to the little Pennsylvanian town of Gettysburg. Hooker,

after marching his army northwards, had been relieved of the command.

A battle was near; and in face of the enemy a new commander had to

be chosen. Two days before the hostile armies met, General Meade was

appointed. Meade was an experienced soldier, who had filled with honour

the various positions assigned to him; but it was seemingly a hopeless

task which he was now asked to perform. With an oft-defeated army of

sixty thousand to seventy thousand men, to whom he was a stranger,

he had to meet Lee with his victorious seventy-five thousand. Meade

quietly undertook the work appointed to him, and did it, too, like a

brave, prudent, unpretending man.

[Sidenote: July 1, 1863 A.D.] The battle lasted for three days. On the

first day the Confederates had some advantage. Their attack broke and

scattered a Federal division with considerable loss. But that night the

careful Meade took up a strong position on a crescent-shaped line of

heights near the little town. Here he would lie, and the Confederates

might drive him from it if they could.

[Sidenote: July 2.] Next day Lee attempted to dislodge the enemy. The

key of the Federal position was Cemetery Hill, and there the utmost

strength of the Confederate attack was put forth. Nor was it in vain;

for part of the Federal line was broken, and at one point an important

position had been taken by the Confederates. Lee might fairly hope

that another day’s fighting would complete his success and give him

undisputed possession of the wealthiest Northern States. His loss had

been small, while the Federals had been seriously weakened.

Perhaps no hours of deeper gloom were ever passed in the North than

the hours of that summer evening when the telegraph flashed over the

country the news of Lee’s success. The lavish sacrifice of blood and

treasure seemed in vain. A million of men were in arms to defend the

Union, and yet the northward progress of the rebels could not be

withstood. Should Lee be victorious on the morrow, the most hopeful

must despond.

[Sidenote: July 3.] The day on which so much of the destiny of America

hung opened bright and warm and still. The morning was occupied by Lee

in preparations for a crushing attack upon the centre of the Federal

position; by Meade, in carefully strengthening his power of resistance

at the point where he was to win or to lose this decisive battle.

About noon all was completed. Over both armies there fell a marvellous

stillness--the silence of anxious and awful expectation. It was broken

by a solitary cannon-shot, and the shriek of a Whitworth shell as

it rushed through the air. That was the signal at which one hundred

and fifty Confederate guns opened their fire. The Federal artillery

replied, and for three hours a prodigious hail of shells fell upon

either army. No decisive supremacy was, however, established by the

guns on either side, although heavy loss was sustained by both. While

the cannonade still continued, Lee sent forth the columns whose errand

it was to break the Federal centre. They marched down the low range

of heights on which they had stood, and across the little intervening

valley. As they moved up the opposite height the friendly shelter of

Confederate fire ceased. Terrific discharges of grape and shell smote

but did not shake their steady ranks. As the men fell, their comrades

stepped into their places, and the undismayed lines moved swiftly on.

Up to the low stone wall which sheltered the Federals, up to the very

muzzles of guns whose rapid fire cut every instant deep lines in their

ranks, the heroic advance was continued.

General Lee from the opposite height watched, as Napoleon did at

Waterloo, the progress of his attack. Once the smoke of battle was for

a moment blown aside, and the Confederate flag was seen to wave within

the enemy’s position. Lee’s generals congratulate him that the victory

is gained. Again the cloud gathers around the combatants. When it lifts

next, the Confederates are seen broken and fleeing down that fatal

slope, where a man can walk now without once putting his foot upon the

grass, so thick lie the bodies of the slain. The attack had failed; the

battle was lost; the Union was saved.

General Lee’s business was now to save his army. “This has been a sad

day for us,” he said to a friend, “a sad day; but we can’t expect

always to gain victories.” He rallied his broken troops, expecting to

be attacked by the victorious Federals; but Meade did not follow up

his success. Next day Lee began his retreat. In perfect order he moved

towards the Potomac, and safely crossed the swollen river back into

Virginia.

The losses sustained in this battle were terrible. Forty-eight thousand

men lay dead or wounded on the field. Lee’s army was weakened by

over forty thousand men killed, wounded, and prisoners. Meade lost

twenty-three thousand. For miles around, every barn, every cottage

contained wounded men. The streets of the little town were all dabbled

with blood. Men were for many days engaged in burying the dead, of

whom there were nearly eight thousand. The wounded of both armies,

who were able to be removed, were at once carried into hospitals and

tenderly cared for. There were many so mangled that their removal was

impossible. These were ministered to on the field till death relieved

them from their pain.

The tidings of the victory at Gettysburg came to the Northern people

on the 4th of July, side by side with the tidings of the fall of

Vicksburg. The proud old anniversary had perhaps never before been

celebrated by the American people with hearts so thankful and so glad.

Mr. Lincoln, who had become grave and humble and reverential under the

influence of those awful circumstances amid which he lived, proclaimed

a solemn day of thanksgiving for the deliverance granted to the nation,

and of prayer that God would lead them all, “through the paths of

repentance and submission to the divine will, to unity and fraternal

peace.”

The deep enthusiasm which, in those anxious days, thrilled the American

heart, sought in song that fulness of expression which speech could not

afford. Foremost among the favourite poetic utterances of the people

was this:--

BATTLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;

He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;

He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;

His Truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps;

They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;

I have read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;

His Day is marching on.

I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel--

“As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal;”

Let the Hero born of woman crush the serpent with His heel,

Since God is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;

He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat;

Oh! be swift, my soul, to answer Him; be jubilant, my feet,--

Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;

As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,

While God is marching on.

These strangely musical verses were sung at all public meetings in

the North, the audience ordinarily starting to their feet and joining

in the strain, often interrupted by emotion too deeply stirred to be

concealed. President Lincoln has been seen listening to the hymn with

tears rolling down his face. When the Battle of Gettysburg was fought

there were many hundreds of Northern officers captive in the Libby

prison--a huge, shapeless structure, once a tobacco factory, standing

by the wayside in a suburb of Richmond. A false report was brought to

them that the rebels had gained. There were many sleepless eyes and

sorrowing hearts that night among the prisoners. But next morning an

old negro brought them the true account of the battle. The sudden joy

was too deep for words. By one universal impulse the gladdened captives

burst into song. Midst weeping and midst laughter the Battle-Hymn of

the Republic was caught up until five hundred voices were joining in

the strain. There as elsewhere it was felt with unutterable joy and

thankfulness that the country was saved.

The victory at Gettysburg lifted a great load from the hearts of

the Northern people. There was yet a work--vast and grim--to be

accomplished before a solid peace could be attained, but there was now

a sure hope of final success. It was remarked by President Lincoln’s

friends that his appearance underwent a noticeable change after

Gettysburg. His eye grew brighter; his bowed-down form was once more

erect. In the winter after the battle part of the battle-ground was

consecrated as a cemetery, into which were gathered the remains of

the brave men who fell. Lincoln took part in the ceremony, and spoke

these memorable words: “It is for us the living to be dedicated here to

the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly

advanced. It is for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining

before us; that from these honoured dead we take increased devotion to

that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion; that

we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain;

that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom; and

that government of the people--by the people and for the people--shall

not perish from the earth.”

CHAPTER VIII.

THE LAST CAMPAIGN.

Even before the disasters of Gettysburg and Vicksburg, and while

General Lee was still pursuing a course of dazzling success, it had

become evident to many that the cause of the South was hopeless. A

strict blockade shut her out from the markets of Europe. Her supplies

of arms were running so low, that even if she could have found men in

sufficient numbers to resist the North, she could not have equipped

them. Food was becoming scarce. Already the pangs of hunger had been

experienced in Lee’s army. Elsewhere there was much suffering, even

among those who had lately been rich. The soldiers were insufficiently

provided with clothing. As winter came on, they deserted and went home

in crowds so great that punishment was impossible.

The North had a million men in the field. She had nearly six hundred

ships of war, seventy-five of which were iron-clads. She had boundless

command of everything which could contribute to the efficiency and

comfort of her soldiers. The rolls of the Southern armies showed only

four hundred thousand men under arms, and of these it was said that

from desertion and other causes seldom more than one-half were in the

ranks.

Money was becoming very scarce. The Confederate Government borrowed

all the money it could at home, but the supply received was wholly out

of proportion to the expenditure. A loan was attempted in England;

and there proved to be there a sufficient number of rich but unwise

persons to furnish three million sterling--most of which will remain

for ever unpaid to the lenders. No other measure remained but to print,

as fast as machinery could do it, Government promises to pay at some

future time, and to force these upon people to whom the Government

owed money. These promises gradually fell in value. In 1862, when the

rebellion was young and hopes were high, one dollar and twenty cents in

Government money would purchase a dollar in gold. In January 1863 it

required three dollars to do that. After Gettysburg it required twenty

dollars. Somewhat later it required sixty paper dollars to obtain the

one precious golden coin.

It became every day more apparent that the resources of the South were

being exhausted. Even if the genius of her generals should continue

to gain victories, the South must perish from want of money and

want of food. There was a touching weakness in many of her business

arrangements. Government appealed to the people for gifts of jewellery

and silver plate, and published in the Richmond newspapers lists of

the gold rings and silver spoons and teapots which amiable enthusiasts

bestowed upon them! When iron-clad ships of war were needed and iron

was scarce, an association of ladies was formed to collect old pots

and pans for the purpose! The daring of these people and the skill

of their leaders might indeed gain them victories; but it was a wild

improbability that they should come successfully out of a war in which

the powerful and sagacious North was resolute to win.

[Sidenote: 1864 A.D.] The Northern Government, well advised of the

failing resources of the South, hoped that one campaign more would

close the war. Bitter experience had corrected their early mistakes,

and they had at length found a general worthy of his high place. Grant

was summoned eastward to direct the last march on Richmond. The spirit

of the country was resolute as ever. The soldiers had now the skill of

veterans; enormous supplies were provided; everything that boundless

resources, wisely administered, could do, was now done to bring the

awful contest to a close.

When the campaign opened, Grant with one hundred and twenty thousand

men faced Lee, whose force was certainly less by one-half. The little

river Rapidan flowed between. The Wilderness--a desolate region of

stunted trees and dense undergrowth--stretched for many miles around.

At midnight on the 3rd of May, Grant began to cross the river, and

before next evening his army stood on the southern side. Lee at once

attacked him. During the next eight days there was continuous fighting.

The men toiled all day at the work of slaughter, lay down to sleep at

night, and rose to resume their bloody labour in the morning, as men

do in the ordinary peaceful business of life. Lee directed his scanty

force with wondrous skill. It was his habit to throw up intrenchments,

within which he maintained himself against the Federal assault. Grant

did not allow himself to be hindered in his progress to Richmond.

When he failed to force the Confederate position he marched southward

round its flank, continually obliging Lee to move forward and take up

a new position. His losses were terrible. From the 5th to the 12th of

May he had lost thirty thousand men in killed, wounded, and missing.

The wounded were sent to Washington, and trains of ambulances miles

in length, laden with suffering men, passed continually through the

capital, filling all hearts with sadness and gloomy apprehension. The

cost was awful, but General Grant knew that the end was being gained.

He knew that Lee was weakened irrecoverably by the slaughter of these

battles, and he wrote that he would “fight it out on this line, if it

should take all summer.”

Grant found that a direct attack on Richmond was as yet hopeless, and

he marched southwards past the rebel capital to the little town of

Petersburg, twenty-two miles off. His plan was to wear down the rebel

army by the continual attack of superior forces, and also to cut the

railways by which provisions were brought into Richmond. By the middle

of June he was before Petersburg, which he hoped to possess before Lee

had time to fortify the place against him. It might have been taken by

a vigorous assault; but the attacking force was feebly led, and the

opportunity was missed.

And now there began the tedious bloody siege of Petersburg. The armies

had chosen their positions for the final conflict. The result was

not doubtful. General Lee was of opinion, some time before, that the

fortunes of the Confederacy were desperate. The Northern Government and

military leaders knew that success was certain. Indeed General Grant

stated afterwards that he had been at the front from the very beginning

of the war, and that he had never entertained any doubt whatever as to

the final success of the North.

All around Petersburg, at such distance that the firing did not very

seriously affect the little city, stretched the earthworks of the

combatants. Before the end there were forty miles of earthworks. The

Confederates established a line of defence. The Federals established

a line of attack, and gradually, by superior strength, drove their

antagonists back. Lee retired to a new series of defences, where the

fight was continued. The Federals had a railway running to City Point,

eleven miles away, where their ships brought for them the amplest

supplies. Lee depended upon the railways which communicated with

distant portions of Confederate territory. These it was the aim of

Grant to cut, so that his adversary might be driven by want of food

from his position. The outposts of the armies were within talking

distance of each other. The men lay in rifle-pits or shallow ditches,

watching opportunity to kill. Any foe who incautiously came within

range died by their unerring fire. For ten long months the daily

occupation of the combatants had been to attack each the positions of

the other. The Confederates, by constant sallies, attempted to hinder

the advance of their powerful assailant. Grant never relaxed his hold.

He “had the rebellion by the throat,” and he steadily tightened his

grasp. By City Point he was in easy communication with the boundless

resources of the North. Men and stores were supplied as he needed them

by an enthusiastic country. On the rebel side the last available man

was now in the field. Half the time the army wanted food. Desertions

abounded. It was not that the men shunned danger or hardship, but they

knew the cause was hopeless. Many of them knew also that their families

were starving. They went home to help those who were dearer to them

than that desperate enterprise whose ruin was now so manifest. The

genius of Lee was the sole remaining buttress of the Confederate cause.

Once the Federals ran an enormous mine under a portion of the enemy’s

works. In this mine they piled up twelve thousand pounds of gunpowder.

They had a strong column ready to march into the opening which the

explosion would cleave. Early one summer morning the mine was fired.

A vast mass of earth, mingled with bodies of men, was thrown high

into air. The Confederate defence at that point was effaced, and

the attacking force moved forward. But from some unexplained reason

they paused and sheltered themselves in the huge pit formed by the

explosion. The Confederates promptly brought up artillery and rained

shells into the pit, where soon fifteen hundred men lay dead. The

discomfited Federals retired to their lines.

* * * * *

When Grant began his march to Richmond, he took care that the enemy

should be pressed in other quarters of his territory. General Sherman

marched from Tennessee down into Georgia. Before him was a strong

Confederate army, and a country peculiarly favourable for an army

contented to remain on the defensive; but Sherman overcame every

obstacle. He defeated his enemy in many battles and bloody skirmishes.

His object was to reach Atlanta, the capital of Georgia. Atlanta

was of extreme value to the rebels. It commanded railroads which

conveyed supplies to their armies; it had great factories where they

manufactured cannon and locomotives; great foundries where they

laboured incessantly to produce shot and shell. Sherman, by brilliant

generalship and hard fighting, overcame all resistance, and entered

Atlanta, September 2. It was a great prize, but it was not had cheaply.

During those four months he had lost thirty thousand men.

When Sherman had held Atlanta for a few weeks, he resolved to march

eastward through Georgia to the sea. He had a magnificent army of sixty

thousand men, for whom there was no sufficient occupation where they

lay. On the sea-coast there were cities to be taken. And then his army

could march northwards to join Grant before Petersburg.

[Sidenote: Nov. 15, 1864 A.D.] When all was ready Sherman put the

torch to the public buildings of Atlanta, telegraphed northwards that

all was well, and cut the telegraph wires. Then he started on his

march of three hundred miles across a hostile country. For a month

nothing was heard of him. When he re-appeared it was before Savannah,

of which he quickly possessed himself. His march through Georgia

had been unopposed. He severely wasted the country for thirty miles

on either side of the line from Atlanta to Savannah. He carried off

the supplies he needed; he destroyed what he could not use; he tore

up the railroads; he proclaimed liberty to the slaves, many of whom

accompanied him eastward. He proved to all the world how hollow a thing

was now the Confederacy, and how rapidly its doom was approaching.

* * * * *

At the north, in the valley of the Shenandoah, a strong Confederate

army, under the habitually unsuccessful General Early, confronted the

Federals under Sheridan. Could Sheridan have been driven away, the

war might again have been carried into Pennsylvania or Maryland, and

the North humbled in her career of victory. But Sheridan was still

triumphant. [Sidenote: Oct. 19, 1864 A.D.] At length General Early

effected a surprise. He burst upon the Federals while they looked not

for him. His sudden attack disordered the enemy, who began to retire.

Sheridan was not with his army; he had gone to Winchester, twenty

miles away. The morning breeze from the south bore to his startled ear

the sounds of battle. Sheridan mounted his horse, and rode with the

speed of a man who felt that upon his presence hung the destiny of the

fight. His army was on the verge of defeat, and already stragglers were

hurrying from the field; but when Sheridan galloped among them, the

battle was restored. Under Sheridan the army was invincible. The rebels

were defeated with heavy loss, and were never again able to renew the

war in the valley of the Shenandoah.

* * * * *

The Slave question was not yet completely settled. The Proclamation

had made free the slaves of all who were rebels, and nothing remained

between them and liberty but those thin lines of gray-coated hungry

soldiers, upon whose arms the genius of Lee bestowed an efficacy

not naturally their own. But the Proclamation had no power to free

the slaves of loyal citizens. In the States which had not revolted,

slavery was the same as it had ever been. The feeling deepened rapidly

throughout the North that this could not continue. Slavery had borne

fruit in the hugest rebellion known to history. It had proclaimed

irreconcilable hostility to the Government; it had brought mourning

and woe into every house. The Union could not continue half-slave and

half-free. The North wisely and nobly resolved that slavery should

cease.

Most of the loyal Slave States freed themselves by their own choice

of this evil institution. Louisiana, brought back to her allegiance

not without some measure of force, led the way. Maryland followed,

and Tennessee, and Missouri, and Arkansas. In Missouri, whence

the influence issued which murdered Lovejoy because he was an

abolitionist--which supplied the Border ruffians in the early days of

Kansas--the abolition of slavery was welcomed with devout prayer and

thanksgiving, with joyful illuminations and speeches and patriotic

songs.

One thing was yet wanting to the complete and final extinction of

slavery. The Constitution permitted the existence of the accursed

thing. If the Constitution were so amended as to forbid slavery upon

American soil, the cause of this huge discord which now convulsed the

land would be removed. A Constitutional Amendment to that effect was

submitted to the people. In the early months of 1865, while General

Lee--worthy to fight in a better cause--was still bravely toiling to

avert the coming doom of the Slave Empire, the Northern States joyfully

adopted the Amendment. Slavery was now at length extinct. This was

what Providence had mercifully brought out of a rebellion whose avowed

object it was to establish slavery more firmly and extend it more

widely.

But freedom was not enough. Many of the black men had faithfully

served the Union. Nearly two hundred thousand of them were in the

ranks--fighting manfully in a cause which was specially their own.

There were many black men, as Lincoln said, who “could remember that

with silent tongue, and clenched teeth, and steady eye, and well-poised

bayonet, they had helped mankind to save liberty in America.” But the

coloured people were child-like and helpless. They had to be looked

upon as “the wards of the nation.” [Sidenote: 1864 A.D.] A Freedmen’s

Bureau was established, to be the defence of the defenceless blacks.

General Howard--a man peculiarly fitted to give wise effect to the

kind purposes of the nation--became the head of this department. It

was his duty to provide food and shelter for the slaves who were set

free by military operations in the revolted States. He settled them,

as he could, on confiscated lands. After a time he had to see to the

education of their children. In all needful ways he was to keep the

negroes from wrong till they were able to keep themselves.

* * * * *

Four years had now passed since Lincoln’s election furnished the

slave-owners with a pretext to rebel. Another election had to be

made, and Lincoln was again proposed as the Republican candidate.

The Democratic party nominated General M’Clellan. The war, said the

Democrats, is a failure; let us have a cessation of hostilities, and

endeavour to save the Union by peaceful negotiation. Let us put down

slavery and rebellion by force, said the Republicans; there is no other

way. These were the simple issues on which the election turned. Mr.

Lincoln was re-elected by the largest majority ever known. “It is not

in my nature,” he said, “to triumph over any one; but I give thanks to

Almighty God for this evidence of the people’s resolution to stand by

free government and the rights of humanity.”

[Sidenote: March 4, 1865 A.D.] He was inaugurated according to the

usual form. His Address was brief, but high-toned and solemn, as

beseemed the circumstances. Perhaps no State paper ever produced so

deep an impression upon the American people. It closed thus:--“Fondly

do we hope, fervently do we pray, that this mighty scourge of war

may speedily pass away. Yet if God wills that it continue until all

the wealth piled by the bondsman’s two hundred and fifty years of

unrequited toil shall be sunk, and until every drop of blood drawn with

the lash shall be paid by another drawn with the sword--as was said

three thousand years ago, so still it must be said, ‘The judgments of

the Lord are true and righteous altogether.’ With malice towards none,

with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see

the right, let us finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s

wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his

widow and his orphans--to do all which may achieve and cherish a just

and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.”

[Sidenote: 1864-5 A.D.] During the winter months it became very

plain that the Confederacy was tottering to its fall. These were the

bitterest months through which Virginia had ever passed. The army was

habitually now on short supply. Occasionally, for a day, there was

almost a total absence of food. One day in December Lee telegraphed

to Richmond that his army was without meat, and dependent on a little

bread. And yet the soldiers were greatly better off than the citizens.

Provisions were seized for the army wherever they could be found, and

the owners were mercilessly left to starve. The suffering endured among

the once cheerful homes of Virginia was terrible.

Every grown man was the property of the Government. It was said the

rich men escaped easily, but a poor man could not pass along a street

in Richmond without imminent risk of being seized and sent down to

the lines at Petersburg. At railroad stations might be constantly

seen groups of squalid men on their way to camp--caught up from their

homes and hurried off to fight for a cause which they all knew to be

desperate--in the service of a Government which they no longer trusted.

It was, of course, the earliest care of these men to desert. They went

home, or they surrendered to the enemy. The spirit which made the

Confederacy formidable no longer survived.

General Lee had long before expressed his belief that without the help

of the slaves the war must end disastrously. But all men knew that a

slave who had been a soldier could be a slave no longer. The owners

were not prepared to free their slaves, and they refused therefore to

arm them. In November--with utter ruin impending--a Bill was introduced

into the Confederate Congress for arming two hundred thousand negroes.

It was debated till the following March. Then a feeble compromise was

passed, merely giving the President power to accept such slaves as were

offered to him. So inflexibly resolute were the leaders of the South

in their hostility to emancipation. It was wholly unimportant. At that

time Government could have armed only another five thousand men; and

could not feed the men it had.

The finances of the Confederacy were an utter wreck. Government itself

sold specie at the rate of one gold dollar for sixty dollars in paper

money. [Sidenote: Feb. 17, 1864 A.D.] Mr. Davis, by a measure of

partial repudiation, relieved himself for a short space from some of

his embarrassments; but no device could gain public confidence for the

currency of a falling power. A loaf of bread cost three dollars. It

took a month’s pay to buy the soldier a pair of stockings. The misery

of the country was deep, abject, unutterable. President Davis came to

be regarded with abhorrence, as the cause of all this wretchedness.

Curses, growing ever deeper and louder, were breathed against the

unsuccessful chief.

General Grant, well aware of the desperate condition of the

Confederates, pressed incessantly upon their enfeebled lines. He had

one hundred and sixty thousand men under his command. Sheridan joined

him with a magnificent force of cavalry. Sherman with his victorious

army was near. Grant began to fear that Lee would take to flight,

and keep the rebellion alive on other fields. [Sidenote: March 29,

1865 A.D.] A general movement of all the forces around Richmond was

decided upon. Lee struggled bravely, but in vain, against overwhelming

numbers. His right was assailed by Sheridan, and driven back with

heavy loss--five thousand hungry and disheartened men laying down

their arms. [Sidenote: April 1.] On that same night Grant opened, from

all his guns, a terrific and prolonged bombardment. [Sidenote: April

2.] At dawn the assault was made. Its strength was directed against

one of the Confederate forts. The fight ceased elsewhere, and the

armies looked on. There was a steady advance of the blue-coated lines;

a murderous volley from the little garrison; wild cheers from the

excited spectators. Under a heavy fire of artillery and musketry the

soldiers of the Union rush on; they swarm into the ditch and up the

sides of the works. Those who first reach the summit fall back slain

by musket-shot or bayonet-thrust, but others press fiercely on. Soon

their exulting cheers tell that the fort is won. Lee’s army is cut in

two, and his position is no longer tenable. He telegraphed at once to

President Davis that Richmond must be evacuated.

It was Communion Sunday in St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, and President

Davis was in his pew among the other worshippers. No intelligence from

the army had been allowed to reach the public for some days. But the

sound of Grant’s guns had been heard, and the reserve of the Government

was ominous. Many a keen eye sought to gather from the aspect of

the President some forecast of the future; but in vain. That serene

self-possessed face had lost nothing of its habitual reticence. In all

that congregation there was no worshipper who seemed less encumbered

by the world, more absorbed by the sacred employment of the hour,

than President Davis. The service proceeded, and the congregation

knelt in prayer. As President Davis rose from his knees the sexton

handed him a slip of paper. He calmly read it. Then he calmly lifted

his prayer-book, and with unmoved face walked softly from the church.

It was Lee’s message he had received. Jefferson Davis’s sole concern

now was to escape the doom of the traitor and the rebel. He fled at

once, by special train, towards the south. Then the work of evacuation

commenced. The gunboats on the river were blown up; the bridges were

destroyed; the great warehouses in the city were set on fire, and in

the flames thus wickedly kindled a third part of the city was consumed.

All who had made themselves prominent in the rebellion fled from the

anticipated vengeance of the Federals. The soldiers were marched off,

plundering as they went. Next morning Richmond was in possession of

the Northern troops. Among the first to enter the capital of the rebel

slave-owners was a regiment of negro cavalry.

[Sidenote: April 4, 1865 A.D.] About midnight on Sunday Lee began his

retreat from the position which he had kept so well. Grant promptly

followed him. On the Tuesday morning Lee reached a point where he had

ordered supplies to wait him. By some fatal blunder the cars laden with

the food which his men needed so much had been run on to Richmond, and

were lost to him. Hungry and weary the men toiled on, hotly pursued

by Grant. Soon a hostile force appeared in their front, and it became

evident that they were surrounded.

[Sidenote: April 7.] General Grant wrote to General Lee asking the

surrender of his army, to spare the useless effusion of blood. Lee did

not at first admit that surrender was necessary, and Grant pressed the

pursuit with relentless energy. Lee wrote again to request a meeting,

that the terms of surrender might be arranged. [Sidenote: April 9.]

The two leaders met in a wayside cottage. They had never seen each

other before, although they had both served in the Mexican War, and

Lee mentioned pleasantly that he remembered the name of his antagonist

from that time. Grant drew up and presented in writing the terms

which he offered. The men were to lay down their arms, and give their

pledge that they would not serve against the American Government till

regularly exchanged. They were then to return to their homes, with a

guarantee that they would not be disturbed by the Government against

which they had rebelled. Grant asked if these terms were satisfactory.

“Yes,” said Lee, “they are satisfactory. The truth is, I am in such

a position that any terms offered to me _must_ be satisfactory.” And

then he told how his men had been for two days without food, and begged

General Grant to spare them what he could. Grant, generously eager to

relieve his fallen enemies, despatched instantly a large drove of oxen

and a train of provision waggons. In half an hour there were heard in

the Federal camp the cheers with which the hungry rebels welcomed those

precious gifts.

Lee rode quietly back to his army, where the surrender was expected.

When its details became known, officers and men crowded around their

much-loved chief, to assure him of their devotion, and to obtain a

parting grasp of his hand. Lee was too deeply moved to say much. “Men,”

he said, with his habitual simplicity, “we have fought through the war

together, and I have done the best I could for you.” A day or two later

the men stacked their arms and went to their homes. The history of the

once splendid Army of Northern Virginia had closed.

Lee’s surrender led the way to the surrender of all the Confederate

armies. Within a few days there was no organized force of any

importance in arms against the Union. The War of the Great Rebellion

was at an end.

CHAPTER IX.

THE MURDER OF THE PRESIDENT.

When the closing operations against Richmond were being arranged,

President Lincoln went down to General Grant’s head-quarters at City

Point, and remained there till Lee’s surrender. He visited Richmond on

the day it was taken, and walked through the streets with his little

boy in his hand. The freed slaves crowded to welcome their deliverer.

They expressed in a thousand grotesque ways their gratitude to the good

“Father Abraham.” There had been dark hints for some time that there

were those among the Confederates who would avenge their defeat by the

murder of the President. Mr. Lincoln was urged to be on his guard, and

his friends were unwilling that he should visit Richmond. He himself

cared little, now that the national cause had triumphed.

[Sidenote: April 9, 1865 A.D.] He returned unharmed to Washington on

the evening of Lee’s surrender. The next few days were perhaps the

brightest in his whole life. He had guided the nation through the

heaviest trial which had ever assailed it. On every side were joy and

gladness. Flags waved, bells rang, guns were fired, houses were lighted

up; the thanks of innumerable grateful hearts went up to God for this

great deliverance. No heart in all the country was more joyful and

more thankful than Mr. Lincoln’s. He occupied himself with plans for

healing the wounds of his bleeding country, and bringing back the

revolted States to a contented occupation of their appointed places

in the Union. No thought of severity was in his mind. Now that armed

resistance to the Government was crushed, the gentlest measures which

would give security in the future were the measures most agreeable to

the good President.

On the 14th he held a meeting of his Cabinet, at which General Grant

was present. The quiet cheerfulness and hopefulness of the President

imparted to the proceedings of the council a tone long remembered

by those who were present. After the meeting he drove out with Mrs.

Lincoln, to whom he talked of the good days in store. They had had a

hard time, he said, since they came to Washington; but now, by God’s

blessing, they might hope for quieter and happier years.

In the evening he drove, with Mrs. Lincoln and two or three friends,

to a theatre where he knew the people expected his coming. As the play

went on the audience were startled by a pistol-shot in the President’s

box. A man brandishing a dagger was seen to leap from the box on to the

stage, and with a wild cry--“The South is avenged!”--disappeared behind

the scenes. The President sat motionless, his head sunk down upon his

breast. He was evidently unconscious. When the surgeon came, it was

found that a bullet had pierced the brain, inflicting a deadly wound.

He was carried to a house close by. His family and the great officers

of State, by whom he was dearly loved, sat around the bed of the dying

President. He lingered till morning, breathing heavily, but in entire

unconsciousness, and then he passed away.

At the same hour the President was murdered a ruffian broke into the

sick-room of Mr. Seward, who was suffering from a recent accident,

and stabbed him almost to death as he lay in bed. His bloody work was

happily interrupted, and Mr. Seward recovered.

The assassin of Mr. Lincoln was an actor called Booth, a fanatical

adherent of the fallen Confederacy. His leg was broken in the leap on

to the stage, but he was able to reach a horse which stood ready at

the theatre door. He rode through the city, crossed the Potomac by a

bridge, in the face of the sentinels posted there, and passed safely

beyond present pursuit. A week later he was found hid in a barn, and

well armed. He refused to surrender, and was preparing to fire, when a

soldier ended his miserable existence by a bullet.

The grief of the American people for their murdered President was

beyond example deep and bitter. Perhaps for no man were there ever

shed so profusely the tears of sorrow. Not in America alone, but in

Europe also--where President Lincoln was at length understood and

honoured--his loss was deeply mourned. It was resolved that he should

be buried beside his old home in Illinois. The embalmed remains were to

be conveyed to their distant resting-place by a route which would give

to the people of the chief Northern cities a last opportunity to look

upon the features of the man they loved so well. The sad procession

moved on its long journey of nearly two thousand miles, traversing the

States of Maryland, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Indiana,

and Illinois. Everywhere, as the funeral train passed, the weeping

people sought to give expression to their reverential sorrow. At the

great cities the body lay in state, and all business was suspended.

At length Springfield was reached. The body was taken to the State

House. His neighbours looked once more upon that well-remembered face,

wasted, indeed, by years of anxious toil, but wearing still, as of old,

its kind and placid expression.

Four years before, Lincoln said to his neighbours, when he was leaving

them, “I know not how soon I shall see you again. I go to assume a task

more difficult than that which has devolved upon any other man since

the days of Washington.” He had nobly accomplished his task; and this

was the manner of his home-coming.

CHAPTER X.

THE LOSSES AND THE GAINS OF THE WAR.

The Great Rebellion was at an end. It was not closed by untimely

concessions which left a discontented party, with its strength

unbroken, ready to renew the contest at a more fitting time. It was

fought out to the bitter end. The slave-power might be erring, but it

was not weak. The conflict was closed by the utter exhaustion of one of

the combatants. Lee did not surrender till his army was surrounded by

the enemy and had been two days without food. The great questions which

had been appealed to the sword were answered conclusively and for ever.

The cost had been very terrible. On the Northern side, two million

seven hundred thousand men bore arms at some period of the war. Of

these there died in battle, or in hospital of wounds received in

battle, ninety-six thousand men. There died in hospital of disease, one

hundred and eighty-four thousand. Many went home wounded, to die among

the scenes of their infancy. Many went home stricken with lingering and

mortal disease. Of these there is no record but in the sad memories

which haunt nearly every Northern home.

The losses on the Southern side have not been accurately ascertained.

The white population of the revolted States numbered about a fourth of

the loyal Northern population. At the close of the war the North had a

full million of men under arms. The Southern armies which surrendered

numbered one hundred and seventy-five thousand. When to this is added

the number who went home without awaiting the formality of surrender,

it appears probable that the Southern armies bore to the Northern the

same proportion that the population did. Presumably the loss bore a

larger proportion, as the deaths from disease, owing to the greater

hardships to be endured, must have been excessive in the rebel army.

It must be under the truth to say that one hundred and fifty thousand

Southerners perished in the field or in the hospital.

The war cost the North in money seven hundred million sterling. It is

impossible to state what was the cost to the South. The Confederate

debt was supposed to amount at the close to thirty-five hundred million

dollars; but the dollar was of so uncertain value that no one can tell

the equivalent in any sound currency. Besides this, there was the

destruction of railroads, the burning of houses, the wasting of lands,

and, above all, the emancipation of four million slaves, who had been

purchased by their owners for three or four hundred million sterling.

It has been estimated that the entire cost of the war, on both sides,

was not less than eighteen hundred million pounds sterling.

Great wars ordinarily cost much and produce little. What results had

the American people to show for their huge expenditure of blood and

treasure?

They had freed themselves from the curse of slavery. That unhappy

system made them a byword among Christian nations. It hindered the

progress of the fairest section of the country. It implanted among the

people hatreds which kept them continually on the verge of civil war.

Slavery was now extinct.

For three-quarters of a century the belief possessed Southern minds

that they owed allegiance to their State rather than to the Union.

Each State was sovereign. Having to-day united itself with certain

sister sovereignties, it was free to-morrow to withdraw and enter into

new combinations. America was in this view no nation, but a mere

incoherent concourse of independent powers. This question had been

raised when the Constitution was framed, and it had been debated ever

since. It was settled now. The blood shed in a hundred battles, from

Manassas to Petersburg, expressed the esteem in which the Northern

people held their national life. The doctrine of States’ Rights was

conclusively refuted by the surrender of Lee’s army, and the right of

America to be deemed a nation was established for ever.

It was often said during the war that republican institutions were

upon their trial. It was possible for the war to have resulted so that

government by the people would ever after have been deemed a failure.

It has not been so. The Americans have proved conspicuously the

capacity of a free people to guide their own destinies in war as well

as in peace. They have shown that the dependence of the many upon the

few is as unnecessary as it is humiliating. They have rung the knell

of personal government, and given the world encouragement to hope that

not the Anglo-Saxon race alone, but all other races of men will yet be

found worthy to govern themselves.

Terrible as the cost of the war has been, have not its gains been

greater? The men who gave their lives so willingly have not died

in vain. America and the world will reap advantage, through many

generations, by the blood so freely shed in the great war against the

Southern slave-owners.

CHAPTER XI.

AFTER THE WAR.

In all civil strifes, until now, the woe which waits upon the

vanquished has been mercilessly inflicted. After resistance has ceased,

the grim scaffold is set up, and brave men who have escaped the sword

stoop to the fatal axe. It was assumed by many that the Americans would

avenge themselves according to the ancient usage. Here, again, it was

the privilege of America to present a noble example to other nations.

Nearly every Northern man had lost relative or friend, but there was

no cry for vengeance; there was no feeling of bitterness. Excepting in

battle, no drop of blood was shed by the Northern people. The Great

Republic had been not merely strong, resolute, enduring--it was also

singularly and nobly humane.

Jefferson Davis fled southward on that memorable Sunday when the sexton

of St. Paul’s Church handed to him General Lee’s message. He had need

to be diligent, for a party of American cavalry were quickly upon

his track. They followed him through gaunt pine wildernesses, across

rivers and dreary swamps, past the huts of wondering settlers, until

at length they came upon him near a little town in Georgia. [Sidenote:

May 10, 1865 A.D.] They quietly surrounded his party. Davis assumed

the garments of his wife, and the soldiers saw at first nothing more

formidable than an elderly and not very well-dressed female. But the

unfeminine boots which he wore led to closer inspection, and quickly

the fallen President stood disclosed to his deriding enemies.

There was at first suspicion that Davis encouraged the assassination

of the President. Could that have been proved, he would have died, as

reason was, by the hand of the hangman. But it became evident, on due

examination being made, that he was not guilty of that crime. For a

time the American people regarded Davis with just indignation, as the

chief cause of all the bloodshed which had taken place. Gradually their

anger relaxed into a kind of grim, contemptuous playfulness. He was to

be put upon his trial for treason. Frequently a time was named when the

trial would begin; but the time never came. Ultimately Davis was set at

liberty.

* * * * *

What were the Americans to do with the million of armed men now in

their employment? It was believed in Europe that these men would never

return to peaceful labour. Government could not venture to turn them

loose upon the country. Military employment must be found for them, and

would probably be found in foreign wars.

While yet public writers in Europe occupied themselves with these dark

anticipations, the American Government, all unaware of difficulty,

ordered its armies to march on Washington. [Sidenote: May 23, 24, 1865

A.D.] During two days the bronzed veterans who had followed Grant

and Sherman in so many bloody fights passed through the city. Vast

multitudes from all parts of the Union looked on with a proud but

chastened joy. And then, just as quickly as the men could be paid the

sums which were due to them, they gave back the arms they had used

so bravely, and returned to their homes. It was only six weeks since

Richmond fell, and already the work of disbanding was well advanced.

The men who had fought this war were, for the most part, citizens who

had freely taken up arms to defend the national life. They did not

love war, and when their work was done they thankfully resumed their

ordinary employments. Very speedily the American army numbered only

forty thousand men. Europe, when she grows a little wiser, will follow

the American example. The wasteful folly of maintaining huge standing

armies in time of peace is not destined to disgrace us for ever.

* * * * *

What was the position of the rebel States when the war closed? Were

they provinces conquered by the Union armies, to be dealt with as the

conquerors might deem necessary; or were they, in spite of all they

had done, still members of the Union, as of old? The rebels themselves

had no doubt on the subject. They had tried their utmost to leave

the Union. It was impossible to conceal that. But they had not been

permitted to leave it, and they had never left it. As they were not out

of the Union, it was obvious they were in it. And so they claimed to

resume their old rights, and re-occupy their places in Congress, as if

no rebellion had occurred.

Mr. Lincoln’s successor was Andrew Johnson, a man whose rough vigour

had raised him from the lowly position of tailor to the highest office

in the country. He was imperfectly educated, of defective judgment,

blindly and violently obstinate. He supported the rebels in their

extravagant pretensions. He clung to the strictly logical view that

there could be no such thing as secession; that the rebel States had

never been out of the Union; that now there was nothing required but

that the rebels, having accepted their defeat, should resume their old

positions, as if “the late unpleasantness” had not occurred.

The American people were too wise to give heed to the logic of the

President and the baffled slave-owners. They had preserved the life of

their nation through sacrifices which filled their homes with sorrow

and privation, and they would not be tricked out of the advantages

which they had bought with so great a price. The slave-owners had

imposed upon them a great national peril, which it cost them infinite

toil to avert. They would take what securities it was possible to

obtain that no such invasion of the national tranquillity should occur

again.

It was out of the position so wrongfully assigned to the negro race

that this huge disorder had arisen. The North, looking at this with

eyes which long and sad experience had enlightened, resolved that the

negro should never again divide the sisterhood of States. No root of

bitterness should be left in the soil. Citizenship was no longer to be

dependent upon colour. The long dishonour offered to the Fathers of

Independence was to be cancelled; henceforth American law would present

no contradiction to the doctrine that “all men are born equal.” All men

now, born or naturalized in America, were to be citizens of the Union

and of the State in which they resided. No State might henceforth pass

any law which should abridge the privileges of any class of American

citizens.

An Amendment of the Constitution was proposed by Congress to give

effect to these principles. [Sidenote: March 30, 1870 A.D.] It was

agreed to by the States--not without reluctance on the part of some.

The Revolution--so vast and so benign--was now complete. The negro, who

so lately had no rights at all which a white man was bound to respect,

was now in full possession of every right which the white man himself

enjoyed. The successor of Jefferson Davis in the Senate of the United

States was a negro!

The task of the North was now to “bind up the nation’s wounds”--the

task to which Mr. Lincoln looked forward so joyfully, and which he

would have performed so well. Not a moment was lost in entering upon

it. No feeling of resentment survived in the Northern mind. The South

was utterly exhausted and helpless--without food, without clothing,

without resources of any description. The land alone remained.

Government provided food--without which provision there would have

been in many parts of the country a great mortality from utter want.

The proud Southerners, tamed by hunger, were fain to come as suppliants

for their daily bread to the Government they had so long striven to

overthrow.

With little delay nearly all the rebels received the pardon of the

Government, and applied themselves to the work of restoring their

broken fortunes. Happily for them the means lay close at hand.

Cotton bore still an extravagantly high price. The negroes remained,

although no longer as slaves. They had now to be dealt with as free

labourers, whose services could not be obtained otherwise than by the

inducement of adequate wages. In a revolution so vast, difficulties

were inevitable; but, upon the whole, the black men played their part

well. It had been said they would not consent to labour when they were

free to choose. That prediction was not fulfilled. When kindly treated

and justly paid, they showed themselves anxious to work. Very soon it

began to dawn upon the planters that slavery had been a mistake. Those

of their number who were able to command the use of capital found

themselves growing rich with a rapidity unknown before. Under the old

and wasteful system, the growing crop of cotton was generally sold

to the Northern merchant and paid for to the planter before it was

gathered. Now it had become possible to carry on the business of the

plantation without being in debt at all. Five years after the close of

the war, it is perhaps not too much to say that the men of the South

would have undergone the miseries of another war rather than permit the

re-imposition of that system which they, erringly, endured so much to

preserve.

CHAPTER XII.

HOW THE AMERICANS CARED FOR THEIR SOLDIERS.

Wars have been, in general, made by Kings to serve the purposes of

their own ambition or revenge. This war was made by the American

people, and willingly fought out by their own hands. The men who fought

were nearly all Americans, and mainly volunteers. They were regarded

with the deepest interest by those who remained at home. Ordinarily,

the number of soldiers who die of diseases caused by the hardships

they endure is greater than the number of those who die of wounds. The

Americans were eager to save their soldiers from the privations which

waste so many brave lives. They erected two great societies, called the

Sanitary Commission and the Christian Commission. Into the coffers of

these societies they poured money and other contributions to the amount

of four million sterling. The Sanitary Commission sent medical officers

of experience into the armies to guide them in the choice of healthy

situations for camps; to see that drainage was not neglected; to watch

over the food of the soldiers, and also their clothing; to direct the

attention of the Government to every circumstance which threatened evil

to the health of the army. Its agents followed the armies with a line

of waggons containing all manner of stores. Everything the soldier

could desire issued in profusion from those inexhaustible waggons.

There were blankets and great-coats and every variety of underclothing.

There were crutches for the lame, fans to soothe the wounded in the

burning heat of summer, bandages, and sponges, and ice, and even

mosquito-netting for the protection of the poor sufferers in hospital.

Huge wheeled-caldrons rolled along in the rear, and ever, at the close

of battle or toilsome march, dispensed welcome refreshment to the

wearied soldiers.

The Christian Commission undertook to watch over the spiritual wants

of the soldiers. Its president was George H. Stuart, a merchant of

Philadelphia, whose name is held in enduring honour as a symbol of all

that is wise and energetic in Christian beneficence. Under the auspices

of this society thousands of clergymen left their congregations and

went to minister to the soldiers. A copious supply of Bibles, tracts,

hymn-books, and similar reading matter was furnished. The agents of

the Commission preached to the soldiers, conversed with them, supplied

them with books, aided them in communicating with friends at home. But

they had sterner duties than these to discharge. They had to seek the

wounded on the field and in the hospital; to bind up their wounds; to

prepare for them such food or drink as they could use;--in every way

possible to soothe the agony of the brave men who were giving their

lives that the nation might be saved. Hundreds of ladies were thus

engaged tending the wounded and sick, speaking to them about their

spiritual interests, cooking for them such dishes as might tempt the

languid appetite. The dying soldier was tenderly cared for. The last

loving message was conveyed to the friends in the far-off home. Nothing

was left undone which could express to the men who gave this costly

evidence of their patriotism the gratitude with which the country

regarded them.

It resulted from the watchful care of the American Government and

people, that the loss of life by disease was singularly small in the

Northern army. There never was a war in which the health of the army

was so good, and the waste of life by disease so small.

When the war was over, the Americans addressed themselves, sadly and

reverently, to the work of gathering into national cemeteries the

bones of those who had fallen. The search was long and toilsome, for

the battle-ground had been a continent, and men were buried where they

died. Every battle-field was searched. Every line by which an army

had advanced, or by which the wounded had been removed, was searched.

Sometimes a long train of ambulances had carried the wounded to

hospitals many miles away. At short intervals, during that sad journey,

it was told that a man had died. The train was stopped; the dead man

was lifted from beside his dying companions; a shallow grave was dug,

and the body, still warm, was laid in it. A soldier cut a branch from

a tree, flattened its end with his knife, and wrote upon it the dead

man’s name. This was all that marked his lowly resting-place. The

honoured dead, scattered thus over the continent, were now piously

gathered up. For many miles around Petersburg the ground was full of

graves. During several years men were employed in the melancholy search

among the ruins of the wide-stretching lines. In some cemeteries lie

ten thousand, in others twenty thousand of the men who died for the

nation. An iron tablet records the name of the soldier and the battle

in which he died. Often, alas! the record is merely that of “Unknown

Soldier.” Over the graves floats the flag which those who sleep below

loved so well. Nothing in America is more touching than her national

cemeteries. So much brave young life given freely, that the nation

might be saved! So much grateful remembrance of those who gave this

supreme evidence of their devotion!

Book Fifth.

CHAPTER I.

REUNITED AMERICA.

Long ago thoughtful men had foreseen that a permanent union between

slave communities and free communities was impossible. Wise Americans

knew that their country could not continue “half slave and half

free.” Slavery was a fountain out of which strife flowed perpetual.

There was an incessant conflict of interests. There was a still more

formidable conflict of feeling. The North was humiliated by the

censure which she had to share with her erring sisters. The South was

imbittered by the knowledge that the Christian world abhorred her most

cherished institution. The Southern character became ever more fierce,

domineering, unreasoning. Some vast change was known to be near.

Slavery must cease in the South, or extend itself into the North. There

was no resting-place for the country between that universal liberty

which was established in the North, and the favourite doctrine of the

South that the capitalist should own the labourer.

The South appealed to the sword, and the decision was against her. She

frankly and wisely accepted it. She acknowledged that the labouring-man

was now finally proved to be no article of merchandise, but a free and

responsible citizen. That acknowledgment closed the era of strife

between North and South. There was no longer anything to strive

about. There was no longer North or South, in the old hostile sense,

but a united nation, with interests and sympathies rapidly becoming

identical. It has been foretold that America will yet break up into

several nations. What developments may await America in future ages we

do not know. But we do know that the only circumstance which threatened

disruption among the sisterhood of States has been removed, and that

the national existence of America rests upon foundations at least as

assured as those which support any nation in the world.

The South had laid aside all thought of armed resistance, and in

perfect good faith had acquiesced in the overthrow of slavery. Her

leaders did not, however, consent readily to those guarantees of

future tranquillity which the North demanded. At the close of the war

eleven States were without legal State government; and the North would

not permit the restoration of the forfeited privilege until those

constitutional changes were accepted by which the political equality

of the negro was secured. It had become an easy thing to consent that

the negro should be free; it was very hard to consent that he should

sit in the State Legislatures, and exercise an influential voice

in framing laws for those who had lately owned him. Several States

withheld their concurrence from arrangements which humiliated them

so deeply, desperately choosing rather to deny themselves for the

time the privilege of self-government and to live under a government

in whose creation they had no part. Very grave evils resulted from

their pertinacious adherence to this unwise choice. Their affairs

were necessarily taken charge of by the Federal executive, and

President Grant sent them rulers from Washington. Unworthy persons

were able by dexterous intrigue to gain positions of control, and

hastened southwards, with no purpose to heal the wounds of the war;

intent merely to plunder for their own advantage the impoverished

and suffering States. The finances of the South were in extreme

disorder. Public debt had increased enormously during the war; but the

North averted the difficulty which this increase might have caused

by insisting that no debt incurred for the purposes of the rebellion

should be recognized as a public obligation. The temporary rulers of

the South gave prompt attention to the possibility of obtaining loans,

ostensibly for the restoration of railroads and other necessary works.

It was not yet realized how fatally wasted the South had been, and men

hastily concluded that her advantages of soil and climate must secure

for her a rapid financial recovery. Cherishing such expectations,

capitalists on both sides of the Atlantic were found willing to make

loans on the credit of various Southern States. These moneys were

applied only in very small measure to the uses of the States in

whose name they were obtained; the larger portion was feloniously

appropriated by the unscrupulous persons whose position gave them the

opportunity of doing so. Afterwards, when the fraud was fully exposed,

the defrauded States repudiated the obligation to repay moneys which

they had not received, and which, as they averred, had been borrowed

by persons who were in no sense their servants. The good name of the

South suffered deeply and her recovery was seriously hindered by these

unhappy transactions.

The inevitable difficulties of reconstruction were seriously aggravated

by the violent conflict of opinion which raged between President

Johnson and Congress. The President would not sanction the conditions

which Congress considered it necessary to make with the South, and he

steadily vetoed all measures which were at variance with his theory

that the rebels were entitled to be received without stipulation. His

resistance was not practically important, for the country was united,

and Congress was able to pass all its measures over the veto of the

President. The irritation caused by his opposition to the public wish

grew, however, so intense, that it led to his impeachment and trial

before the Senate, with a view to his forcible removal from office. His

enemies failed to secure a conviction, although they came so near that

one additional hostile vote would have brought Mr. Johnson’s presidency

to an abrupt close. So smoothly does the constitutional machinery of

America now move, that the trial and expected deposition of the head of

the government were not felt either by the commercial interests of the

country or in the carrying on of public business.

For five years after the end of the war some of the Southern States

continued to refuse the terms insisted upon by the inflexible North,

and continued to endure the evils of military rule. Gradually,

however, as time soothed the bitterness of defeat, they withdrew their

refusal and consented to resume their position in the Union on the

conditions which were offered to them. In 1870 President Grant was

able to announce the completed restoration of the Union which his own

leadership had done so much to save.

The industrial recovery of the South was unexpectedly slow. The

industrial arrangements of the country were utterly overthrown.

Population had diminished; capital had disappeared; cultivation,

excepting of articles necessary for food, had ceased; many of the

coloured labourers had fled northwards, and the labour of those

who remained had to be arranged for on conditions altogether new

and unknown. The reconstruction of the shattered fragments of an

industrial system was inevitably a tedious and difficult work. But the

wholesome pressure of necessity,--laid equally on white men and on

black,--obliged both to adapt themselves to the circumstances in which

they were placed. The planters drew together as many labourers as they

could obtain and were able to pay for, and cultivated such portions of

their lands as they could thus overtake. The negroes were always ready

to serve any man who paid regular wages; but it very often happened, at

the outset, that there was no man with money enough to do that. In such

cases the negroes cultivated for their own behoof. The progress made

in reconquering the neglected soil was very slow. But in that fertile

land no effort of man is suffered to go without a bountiful reward.

Every succeeding crop left the cultivator a little richer than he had

been before. Every seed-time witnessed a larger area under cultivation,

until at length the quantity of cotton produced is as large as it had

ever been before the war, and promises steadily to increase. A new and

better industrial system gradually arose--less picturesque than that

which had been destroyed, but no longer founded in wrong, and therefore

more enduring and more beneficial to master as well as to servant.

* * * * *

The rebellion had drawn forth into energetic exercise among the

Northern people a patriotic sentiment which nerved them for every

measure of self-devotion. But war cherishes also into exceptional

strength the evil that is in humanity, and this patriot war exerted

an influence not less unhallowed than other wars have done. The

fluctuating value of the currency and consequently of all commodities,

the unprecedented opportunities of acquiring sudden wealth, fostered

widespread corruption in the cities. Reckless personal extravagance,

a frantic haste to become rich by whatever means, and a general decay

of commercial morality, characterized the years which followed the

restoration of peace. Political society, at no time distinguished by

its elevation of moral tone, was deeply tainted. Even among the men

whom President Grant had chosen as worthy of his fullest confidence

there were some who yielded to the prevailing influence, and the

President had the mortification of finding that several members of

his Cabinet had incurred the shame of corrupt transactions. Habitual

embezzlement was practised in the management of the finances of large

cities. The municipal government of New York had fallen into hands

exceptionally rapacious and base, and the career of the plunderers was

not arrested till the city had been robbed of many million dollars.

For several years after the close of the war the industrial interests

of America seemed to prosper exceedingly. Her foreign trade increased

rapidly. The thriving people purchased freely of the costly luxuries

imported from Europe, and the gains of merchants were liberal. New

factories arose; villages swelled into towns; emigrants to the number

of three hundred and fifty thousand annually hastened to exchange the

poverty of Europe for the plenty of this land of promise; a million

persons were added every year to the population. New railways were laid

down at the rate of five to six thousand miles annually, involving an

annual expenditure of thirty to forty million sterling. The confiding

capitalists of Europe furnished the means requisite to sustain this

perilously rapid increase. The census of 1870 reported that during

ten years the wealth of the people had nearly doubled, and that their

annual earnings now amounted to two thousand million sterling. It

seemed as if, for the first time in history, a prolonged and costly war

had been waged without pecuniary disadvantage to the combatants.

But the inevitable retribution was not abandoned; it was only delayed.

[Sidenote: Sept. 1873 A.D.] While the currents of commercial activity

still flowed with unwonted swiftness and smoothness, the failure of a

large financial house in New York gave the signal for a panic, which

speedily assumed an aspect of unprecedented severity. Business stood

still; the exchanges were closed; the banks ceased to give out money;

the payment of debts became impossible. In a short time the intensity

of the excitement passed away, leaving a deep-seated depression,

which continued for six years. It was now discovered that men had

been deluding themselves with a merely visionary prosperity--that all

values had been wildly inflated; and it became the sad and surprising

experience of very many that their fancied wealth had, in part or

wholly, disappeared. Factories were closed; artisans were unable to

obtain employment; wages fell, step by step, till in many industries

they had undergone reductions which were not less than forty per cent.

All stocks and every description of property sank lamentably in value;

railway companies and other borrowers of foreign capital discontinued

payment of the promised interest; immigration almost ceased--for who

would now seek a home in this afflicted and impoverished land?

America emerged from those miserable years with her vitality

undiminished; with her financial position improved; with her industrial

system organized, for the first time, upon a basis of rigorous economy;

with the views of her people corrected, and their character braced

by adversity. The operatives who were unable to find employment in

the cities of the east had made their way westward, and were now

contributing to the greatness of the nation by cultivating the soil.

Personal extravagance ceased, and the imports of foreign commodities

fell one-third. On the other hand, the exports increased largely.

America had for many years been accustomed to use an amount of foreign

goods very much larger than she was able to pay for by her own surplus

productions. In settlement of the excess, she endured a drain upon her

store of the precious metals, or she neutralized it for the time by

the loans which her people obtained abroad. Now all this was changed.

America exported so largely of her manufactures and of the products

of her soil, and restricted so carefully her purchase of foreign

commodities, that now she has to receive from foreigners an annual

balance which exceeds fifty million sterling. And during the painful

years through which she passed, while nearly all European countries

continued to add to their public indebtedness, America continued to

reduce hers. Her debt, which at the close of the war amounted to six

hundred million sterling, thirteen years later was only four hundred

million.[2] And whereas at one period an amount equal to one-half of

her present debt was owing to foreigners, it is now, to the extent of

five-sixths, owing to her own citizens. Her currency, which had been

long at a discount, rose in value, step by step, till it stood at par.

After seventeen years of an inconvertible currency specie payments were

resumed, without the slightest inconvenience to the commerce of the

country.

CHAPTER II.

ENGLAND AND AMERICA.

America looked to England for sympathy when the rebellion began.

England had often reproached her, often admonished her, in regard to

the question of Slavery. The war which threatened her existence was a

war waged by persons who desired to perpetuate slavery, and who feared

the growing Northern dislike to the institution. The North expected

the countenance of England in her time of trial. It was reasonable to

expect that the deep abhorrence of slavery which had long ruled in the

mind of the English people would suffice to decide that people against

the effort to establish a great independent slave-empire.

Most unfortunately, that expectation was not wholly fulfilled. The

working-men of England perceived, as by intuition, the merits of the

dispute, and gave their sympathy unhesitatingly to the North. In the

cotton-spinning districts grievous suffering was endured, because

the Northern ships shut in the cotton of the South and deprived the

mills of their accustomed supply. It was often urged that the English

Government should take measures to raise the Northern blockade. Hunger

persuades men to unwise and evil courses; but hunger itself could never

persuade the men of Lancashire to take any part against the North. So

genuine and so deep was their conviction that the Northern cause was

right.

But among the aristocratic and middle classes of England it was

different. Their sympathy was in large measure given to the South. They

were misled by certain newspapers, in which they erringly trusted. They

were misled by their admiration of a brave people struggling against

an enemy of overwhelming strength. They were misled by an unworthy

jealousy of the greatness of America. Thus unhappily influenced, they

gave their good wishes to the defenders of the slave-system. The North

felt deeply the unlooked-for repulse; and a painful alienation of

feeling resulted.

A variety of circumstances occurred which strengthened this feeling.

A few weeks after the fall of Fort Sumpter, England, having in view

that there had been set up in the South a new Government which was

exercising the functions of a Government, whether rightfully or

otherwise, acknowledged in haste the undoubted fact, and recognized the

South as a belligerent power. This the North highly resented; asserting

that the action of the South was merely a rebellion, with which

foreign countries had nothing to do. A few months later the British

mail-steamer _Trent_ was stopped by a rash American captain, and two

gentlemen, commissioners to England from the rebel Government, were

made prisoners. The captives were released, but the indignity offered

to the British flag awakened a strong sentiment of indignation which

did not soon pass away. Yet further: there was built in a Liverpool

dockyard a steam-ship which it was understood was destined to serve

the Confederacy by destroying the merchant shipping of the North. The

American Ambassador requested the British Government to detain the

vessel. So hesitating was the action of Government, that the vessel

sailed before the order for her detention was issued. For two years the

_Alabama_, and some other ships also fitted in English ports, scoured

the seas, burning and sinking American ships, and inflicting enormous

loss upon American commerce. These circumstances increased the bitter

feeling which prevailed.

The American Government held that England had failed to perform the

duty imposed upon her by international law, and had therefore made

herself responsible for the depredations of the _Alabama_. English

lawyers of eminence expressed the same unacceptable opinion; and a few

years after the war closed the English Government wisely determined

to seek the settlement of the question. [Sidenote: 1869 A.D.] There

was arranged by the Foreign Secretary and the American Minister a

treaty, in terms of which the subject was disposed of by a reference

to the arbitration of impartial persons. This treaty was sent to

Washington for confirmation, according to the judicious American rule

that treaties with foreign powers must receive the sanction of the

Senate. But American feeling was not yet prepared for any adjustment

of differences which had wounded the nation so deeply. It was not

that the terms of the proposed settlement were objected to; it was

rather that no immediate settlement was desired. The American people

chose that the question should, for the time, remain an open question.

Their irritation had not yet subsided, and many of them solaced their

angry minds with the purpose that, when England was again involved in

some one of those European embarrassments which habitually beset her,

this matter of the _Alabama_ should be pressed to a settlement. The

Senate gave effect to the general wish by withholding sanction from

the treaty, and President Grant instructed his minister at the English

Court to abstain from further negotiation.

[Sidenote: 1871 A.D.] But the passage of a little time calmed the

irritation of the not implacable Americans. England renewed her

proposal to refer the dispute to arbitration, coupling the offer with

an expression of regret that injuries so grave had been inflicted upon

the shipping of America. She further consented that the arbitrators

should guide themselves by a definition of neutral duties so framed

that, in effect, it condemned her conduct, and made an adverse decision

inevitable. America accepted the proposal, and a dispute which at an

earlier period would have brought upon two nations the miseries of

a great war was found to come easily within the scope of a peaceful

arbitration. The transaction is of high importance, for it is the

largest advance which has yet been made towards the settlement of

national differences by reason rather than by brute force.

The arbitrators were five persons, named by the Queen, the President,

the King of Italy, the President of Switzerland, and the Emperor

of Brazil. Their deliberations were conducted in the tranquil city

of Geneva, remote from the influence of the disputants. America

presented a statement of her wrongs, and of the compensation to which

she deemed herself entitled. Her case was stated with much ability,

and it produced numerous and painful evidences that the neutrality

with which England regarded the conflict had been a neutrality very

full of sympathy with the slave-holders. But the claim tabled was

extravagantly large. America argued that England should indemnify

her for the expenses of the war-ships which were employed to pursue

the piratical cruisers. She argued that, since her ship-owners had

been compelled to sell their ships to foreigners, England should bear

the losses arising from these enforced sales. Above all, she alleged

that the prolongation of the war after the battle of Gettysburg was

traceable to the influence of the pirate-ships; and she made the huge

demand that England should refund to her the cost of nearly two years

of fighting. The arbitrators gave judgment that England was responsible

for the property destroyed by the _Alabama_ and the other cruisers, and

ordained that she should repair the wrong by a payment of three million

sterling. The claim for losses arising indirectly out of these unhappy

transactions was rejected.

When the claims of sufferers by the piratical vessels were investigated

it was found that the arbitrators had over-estimated them. The American

Government, having satisfied every authenticated demand, found itself

still in possession of about one million of the English money. It was

the wish of many Americans that this sum should be restored to England,

but Congress did not rise to the height of this generosity.

When the _Alabama_ dispute was closed, there remained no cause of

alienation between the two countries. All good men on both sides of

the Atlantic desire earnestly that England and America should be fast

friends. It was possible for England, by bestowing upon the North that

sympathy which we now recognize to have been due, to have bound the

two countries inalienably to each other. Unhappily the opportunity

was missed, and a needless estrangement was caused. But this was not

destined to endure, and it has long ago passed wholly away. England

and America now understand each other as they have never done before.

The constant intercourse of their citizens is a bond of union already

so strong that no folly of Governments could break it. It may fairly

be hoped that the irritations which arose during the war have been

succeeded by an enduring concord between the two great sections of the

Anglo-Saxon family.

CHAPTER III.

INDUSTRIAL AMERICA.

The chosen career of the American people is a career of peaceful

industry. Wisely shunning the glories and calamities of war, they have

devoted themselves to the worthier labour of developing the resources

of the continent which is their magnificent heritage. During four

years they had been obliged to give their energies to a war, on the

successful issue of which the national existence depended. When those

sad years were over, and the conflict ceased, they turned with renewed

vigour to their accustomed pursuits.

The industrial greatness of America is still, in large measure,

agricultural. Nearly one-half of her people live by the cultivation

of the soil. Upwards of three-fourths of the commodities which she

sells to foreigners are agricultural products. The total value of the

crops which she gathered in 1878 was not less than £400,000,000. The

strangers who help to build up her power are drawn to her shores by the

hope of obtaining easy possession of fertile land. Her progress in the

manufacturing arts has been very rapid, but it cannot rival the giant

growth of her agriculture.

The agricultural system of America is eminently favourable to cheap

production. Unoccupied lands are the property of the nation, and are

made over to cultivators on easy terms, and in many cases gratuitously.

A rent-paying farmer is practically unknown; the farmer owns the land

which he tills. His farm has cost him little, and as the invariable

improvement in value cancels even that, it may be said that it has cost

him nothing. The average farm of the Western States is one hundred

and sixty acres. It is cultivated almost without outlay of money. The

farmer and his family perform the work of the farm, with the help of

a neighbour at the great eras of sowing and reaping. This help is

requited in kind, and therefore costs nothing in money. The rich, deep,

virgin soil asks for no manure during many years. The sole burden

upon the farm is the maintenance of the farmer and his family, and of

the four oxen or mules which share his toils. His local taxation is

trivial. His national taxation is less than one-half of that which the

English farmer bears.[3] The evil of distance from the great markets

of the world is neutralized by the low charge for which his grain is

carried on railway or canal.[4] His husbandry is careless, insomuch

that two acres of land in the valley of the Mississippi yield no more

than one acre yields in England.[5] But if his agriculture is rude it

is constantly improving; and, meanwhile, it is so inexpensive that

he can send its products to England, four thousand miles away, and

undersell the farmer there. A vast revolution, whose results we as

yet imperfectly appreciate, is in progress around us. The antiquated,

semi-feudal land-system of England totters to its fall, unable to

sustain itself in presence of the more free and natural system of the

West.

Immigration languished during the earlier years of the war. The

distracted condition of the country, and the fears in regard to its

future so widely entertained in Europe, formed sufficient reason

why men who were in search of a home should avoid America. But when

success crowned the efforts of the North, her old attractiveness to

the emigrating class resumed its power. It came then to be pressed

upon the public mind that the progress of the West was frustrated

by want of adequate communication. There was no railway beyond the

Missouri river. From that point westward to the Pacific communication

depended upon a rude system of stage-coaches, or the waggon of an

adventurous pioneer. It was a journey of nearly two thousand miles,

across an unpeopled wilderness. The hardship was extreme, and the

dangers not inconsiderable; for the way was beset by hostile Indians,

and the traveller must be in constant readiness to fight. This vast

region, composed mainly of rich prairie land, was practically closed

against progress. The resources of the country, as it seemed, could not

be developed excepting near the margins of the continent, or by the

borders of her great navigable rivers.

It was now determined to construct a railway which should connect

the Atlantic with the Pacific, and open for the use of man the vast

intervening expanse of fertile soil. Stimulated by liberal grants of

national land, two companies began to build--one eastward from San

Francisco, the other westward from the Missouri. As the extent of land

given was in strict proportion to the length of line laid down, each

of the companies pushed its operations to the utmost. The work was

done in haste, and, as many then thought, slightly; but experience

has proved its sufficiency. [Sidenote: 1869 A.D.] In due time the

lines met; the last rail was laid down, not without emotion, such as

befitted the completion of a work so great. By the help of electricity

the blows of the hammer which drove home the last spike were made

audible in the chief cities of the east. The union of east and west

was now complete, and many millions of acres of rich land, hitherto

inaccessible, were added to the heritage of man. The savage occupants

of these lands were remorselessly pushed aside. The Indians had been

dangerously hostile to the workmen who constructed the railway, and

they showed some disposition to offer unpleasant interruption to the

trains which ran upon it. They were now gathered up and placed in

certain “reservations,” which it was well understood would be reserved

for Indians only till white men had need of them. When the railroad

was newly opened, travellers could occasionally look out from the

windows upon a vast plain dark with innumerable multitudes of buffaloes

plodding sullenly on their customary migrations. Herds of antelopes

were seen fleeing before this new invader of their quiet lives. The

prairie-dog, sitting upon his mound of earth, watched with curious eye

the unwonted disturbance. All wild creatures were now wantonly slain,

or driven far away. A steady tide of emigration flowed to the west. In

the neighbourhood of the railway, the little wooden farm-house became

frequent; beside stopping-places, villages arose, and swelled out

into little towns; the towns of the olden time increased rapidly and

prospered. The settlers planted trees of quick growth, and gradually,

as the line of settlement stretched westward, the monotony of those

dreary plains was brightened with groves, and dwellings, and cultivated

fields.

Iowa, Indiana, Illinois ceased to be regarded as belonging to the

west, and took rank as old and fully settled central States. Beyond

the Missouri a new career opened for Kansas and Nebraska. Down to the

beginning of the war these States had been claimed and fought for by

the slave-power. Day by day now the railway brought long trains laden

with immigrants--Russian Mennonites fleeing from persecution in Church

and despotism in State; Germans escaping from military conscription;

Englishmen and Irishmen leaving lands where the ownership of the soil

was impossible excepting to a few.

Texas--once the refuge of men seeking exemption from the restraints

which criminal law imposes--even Texas prospered, and under the genial

influence of prosperity became respectable. Her population has risen

in eight years from eight hundred thousand to two million. Much of her

vast area[6] still lies untilled; but much of it has been reclaimed

for the use of man. Her railways still traverse dreary forests, and

great, unpeopled plains; but they also carry the traveller past many

smiling villages, and many thriving cities where a prosperous commerce

is maintained, where schools and churches abound. They reveal to him

well-appointed farm-buildings; fields rich with bountiful crops;

jungles where the peach, the orange, the banana, the pomegranate grow

luxuriantly under the fostering heat of a semi-tropical sun; vast

areas roamed over by myriads of slight, active-looking Texan cattle,

the rearing of which yields wealth to the people. In many of the Texan

cities two contrasted types of civilization--the old Mexican and the

young American--live peaceably side by side. The palace-car meets

the ox-team and the donkey with his panniers. The blanketed Indian,

the Mexican in poncho and sombrero, the American in his faultless

broadcloth, mingle harmoniously in the streets. Handsome mansions such

as abound in the suburbs of eastern cities are near neighbours to

antique Mexican dwellings, built of adobe, with loopholed battlements,

and walls which show still the bullet-marks of forgotten strifes.

As the enormous mineral resources of the Rocky Mountains became more

certainly ascertained, crowds were attracted in hope of sudden wealth,

and the States which include the richer portions of the range became

the home of a large population. In the remote north-west wheat crops of

astonishing opulence rewarded the simple husbandry of the settler. The

law that cultivated plants are most productive near the northern limit

of their growth was illustrated in the happy experience of Dakotah

and northern Minnesota, where the growing of wheat has now become

one of the most lucrative of industrial occupations. The railways

of those States are being extended with all possible rapidity, and

each extension is followed by a fresh influx of settlers. Farmers of

experience from the older and less productive States are drawn to the

north-west by the unrivalled advantages which soil and climate present.

During the year 1878 not less than five million acres of land were

purchased in northern Minnesota for immediate cultivation.[7]

* * * * *

America has never been satisfied with mere agricultural greatness.

The ambition to manufacture was coeval with her origin, and has grown

with her growing strength. Twenty years after the landing of the

Pilgrim Fathers there were bounties offered in Massachusetts for the

encouragement of the manufacture of linen, woollen, and cotton cloths.

When the Arkwright spinning machinery was introduced into England,

the Americans were eager to possess themselves of an improvement so

valuable. But the English law which prohibited the export of machinery

was inflexibly administered, and the models prepared in secret for

shipment to America were seized and confiscated. But no discouragement

repressed the enterprising colonists. The beginnings of their great

textile industries were sufficiently humble. The earliest motive-power

applied to cotton machinery was the hand; next to it, and as an

important advance, came the use of animal-power.[8] But the growth of

demand was rapid, and before the close of last century the application

of water-power was universal.

The increase of consumption was more rapid in America than the increase

of production, and it had to be met by considerable imports of English

goods. England, with abundant capital and low-priced labour, was

able to produce more cheaply than America, and the struggling native

manufacturer had to complain of a competition against which he was not

able to support himself. He appealed to the Government for protection,

and was influential enough to obtain that which he desired. For many

years the subject of the tariff was keenly disputed. The Northern

manufacturers were habitually seeking increased protection, which the

Southern planters, having no kindred interests to protect, were often

unwilling to grant. The rates imposed rose or fell with the strength

of the contending parties and the political exigencies of the time.

[Sidenote: 1861 A.D.] At length, immediately after the representatives

of the South had quitted Congress, and the friends of protection were

absolute, a highly protective tariff was enacted. Duties, the mass of

which range from thirty to fifty per cent., with some very much larger,

were imposed on nearly all foreign commodities landed at American

ports. Under this law, with only slight modification, the foreign

commerce of America has been conducted for the last eighteen years,

and there has not yet manifested itself any change in American opinion

which warrants the expectation of an early return to a more liberal

system.

The large protection now enjoyed, and the active demand occasioned by

the war, stimulated the increase of productive power. Within twelve

years the machinery engaged in cotton-spinning had doubled, rising from

five to ten million spindles. The increase in many other industries

was equally rapid. Side by side with this undue development there

appeared the customary fruits of a protective policy. There was a

general disregard of economy, a prevailing wastefulness which seemed to

neutralize the advantages enjoyed, and leave the manufacturer still in

need of additional protection. But a new competition had now arisen,

against which protection could not be gained. It was no longer foreign

competition which marred the fortune of the native manufacturer; it

was the still more deadly competition which resulted from excessive

production at home. Especially when the panic of 1873 diminished so

suddenly the purchasing power of the American people, it was seen that

even if the manufactures of Europe had been wholly excluded, America

could no longer consume the commodities which her machinery was able to

produce.

During the years of misery which followed the panic, American

manufacturers gained experience of the “sweet uses” of adversity. It

was incumbent upon them now above all things to study cheapness. Wages

were reduced; improved appliances by which cost might be lessened

were eagerly and successfully sought for; economy in every detail was

studied with anxious care. The result gained was of high national

importance. In a few years the American manufacturers found, in regard

to many articles of general consumption, that they were now able to

produce as cheaply as their rivals in England, and that they were

wholly independent of that legislative protection which hitherto had

been regarded as indispensable.

As the skill and care of the native producer increased, the purchases

which America required to make from foreigners underwent large

diminution. Her imports in 1878 were smaller by one-third than they

had been in 1873. She ceased to purchase railroad iron, and diminished

by more than eight-tenths her purchases of other descriptions of iron.

She almost ceased to use European watches, having signally distanced

us in that branch of industry. She diminished by nearly one-half her

use of foreign books and other publications. Where formerly she had

required the earthen and glass wares of Europe to the value of thirteen

million dollars, seven million now sufficed. Her use of foreign carpets

fell to one-tenth; of foreign cottons and woollens to one-half; of

manufactures of wood to one-third; of manufactures of steel to a little

over one-third. [Sidenote: April, 1879 A.D.] And in explanation of this

record of decay our Secretary of Legation at Washington contributes

the ominous suggestion:--“The decreased importation of the articles

referred to has been due in a great measure to the substitution in the

markets of this country of articles of American manufacture.”

But the Americans were not contented with this limitation of their

purchases from foreign producers. A desire to become themselves

exporters of manufactured articles sprang up during the years of

depression which followed the panic. Under the pure democracy of

America a general desire translates itself very quickly into Government

action. [Sidenote: 1877 A.D.] The Secretary of State addressed to his

consuls in all parts of the world a request that they would collect for

him all information fitted to be useful to American manufacturers who

sought markets for their wares in foreign countries. The answers have

put him in possession of a mass of information such as no Government

ever before took the trouble to gather regarding the conditions of

foreign markets, and the openings which existed or might be created

in each for American manufactures. The growth of this trade has thus

far been steady, but not rapid, and even now it has reached only

moderate dimensions. In 1870 American manufactures were exported to

the value of fifteen million sterling, while in 1878 the value had

risen to twenty-seven million. Chief among the articles which make

up this respectable aggregate are cotton cloths, manufactures of

wood, of leather, of iron and steel, including machinery, tools, and

agricultural implements. America sells to foolish nations which have

not yet grown out of their fighting period, fire-arms, cartridges,

gunpowder, and shell, to the extent of nearly a million and a half

sterling. The multiplicity of articles which leave her ports show how

keenly her foreign trade is being prosecuted. She sends household

furniture, made by machinery, and sells it at prices which to the

British cabinet-maker seem to be ruinous. She sends cutlery and tools

of finish and price which fill the men of Sheffield with dismay, but

do not apparently stimulate them to improvement. She sends watches

manufactured by processes so superior to those still practised in

Europe that the Swiss manufacturers have explicitly acknowledged

hopeless defeat. She sends medicines, combs, perfumery, soap, spirits,

writing-paper, musical instruments, glass-ware, carriages. All these

are articles for which, but a few years ago, she herself was indebted

to Europe. Now she supplies her own requirements, and has an increasing

surplus for which she seeks markets abroad. Her policy of protection

has been costly beyond all calculation; but those who upheld it now

point with reasonable pride to the splendid place which America has

taken among the manufacturing nations of the Earth.

CHAPTER IV.

EDUCATION IN AMERICA.

The Pilgrim Fathers carried with them to New England a deep persuasion

that the people of the State which they went to found must be

universally educated. Not otherwise could the enduring success of

their great enterprise be hoped for. It was their care from the very

outset to provide in such manner as circumstances enabled them for

the education of their children. The germ of a free-school system is

to be found in each of their youthful settlements. The records of the

European countries of the time would be searched in vain for evidence

of a sentiment so deeply seated, so widely prevalent, so enlightened

as the New England desire that all children should be educated. Its

sincerity was proved by the willingness of the people to submit to

taxation in the cause. In the early days of Connecticut one-fourth of

the revenues of the colony was applied to the support of schools. Long

before the revolution, schools maintained by public funds and free of

charge to the pupils had extended widely over the New England States.

This love of education has never cooled. When the colonists gained

their independence and established themselves as an association of

freemen, conducting their own public affairs, a new urgency was added

to the necessity that all should be educated. It was clearly seen,

even then, that while ignorant men might be serviceable subjects of a

despotism, only educated citizens were capable of self-government.

Northern America sought to build the fabric of republican institutions

upon the solid and durable foundation of universal enlightenment.

In the Southern States the aristocratic tendencies which the

slave-system fostered were adverse to the education of the poor. The

slave-owners desired submission; their property was not improved

in value, but the reverse, by education. While America was still a

dependency, a question was put to the Governor of Virginia by the

English Commissioners for Foreign Plantations. “I thank God,” replied

the Governor, “there are no free schools or printing-presses, and I

hope we shall not have these hundred years.” The Governor’s hope was

more than fulfilled. The common-school system was almost unknown in

the South while slavery existed. It became criminal to teach a slave

to read; the poor white had no desire to learn, and no one sought to

teach him. At the close of the rebellion the mass of the Southern

population were as little educated as the Russian peasants are to-day.

But peace was no sooner restored than the eager desire of the negroes

for education was met by the generous efforts of the North. Northern

teachers were quickly at work among the negro children. So soon as

the means of the ruined States permitted, the common-school system of

the North was set up. It entailed burdens which they were then ill

able to bear. But these burdens have been borne with a willingness

which is evidence that the South now recognizes her need of education.

Notwithstanding their poverty, some of the States yield for school

purposes a rate of taxation larger for each member of the population

than is that of England.

The American people manifest a profound and, as recent reports

indicate, an increasing interest in their system of common schools.

It is not merely or chiefly the personal advantage of the individual

citizen which concerns them. It is the greatness and permanence of the

State.[9] “Free education for all is the prime necessity of republics.”

Institutions which rest altogether upon popular support demand, as

essential to their safety, the support of an instructed people. It was

the same conviction which impressed itself upon Great Britain when,

having conceded household suffrage, she hastened to set up a compulsory

and universal system of education, that the dangers likely to arise

from the ignorance of the new electors might be averted. Moreover, the

Americans believe firmly that without educated labour eminence in the

industrial arts is not attainable. According to an estimate which has

grown out of the experience of employers, the educated labourer is

more valuable by twenty-five per cent. than his ignorant rival. Here

is a source of national wealth which no wise State will disregard. It

is the American theory that the State--the associated citizens--has

a proprietary interest in each of its members. For the good of the

community, it is entitled to insist that every citizen shall become

as effective as it is possible to make him; to expend public funds in

order to that result is therefore a warrantable and remunerative outlay.

Looking thus upon the value of public instruction, the American people

have borne willingly the heavy costs of the common school. They suffer

taxation ungrudgingly at a rate which, for the smaller population

of England and Wales, would amount to nine million sterling instead

of the four million actually expended. Nor is this the easy product

of lands set apart for educational purposes at a time when land was

valueless. Many of the States wisely set apart one-sixteenth of their

land to uphold their schools. But in many of the old States the

appropriation was not respected; too often, especially in the South,

the endowment was applied to other uses. The revenue derived now from

any description of endowment does not exceed five per cent. of the

whole; the remainder comes from State or local taxation. At one time,

in some of the States, fees were charged from the pupils. But the

opinion came to be widely entertained that this charge impaired in many

ways the efficiency of the system. Six or eight years ago fees were

discontinued, and now the schools of the nation are free to all. The

Americans witness with approbation the increase of their expenditure

on education. During the ten years which preceded the rebellion this

expenditure was doubled; again, during the ten years which followed it

was trebled. It has now grown to nearly eighteen million sterling--a

sum larger than all the nations of Europe unitedly expend for the

same purpose. Large as it is, however, it is equal to no more than

two-thirds of the sum which Britain still expends upon her military and

naval preparations.

The common school is used by all classes of the American people. At

one time there existed among the rich a disposition to have their

children educated with others of their own social position, and many

private schools sprang up to meet their demand. As the common schools

have increased in efficiency, and consequently in public favour, this

disposition has weakened, and private schools have decayed. Their

number is much smaller now than it was ten years ago, and continues

to diminish. With one unhappy exception, the common school satisfies

the requirements of the American people. The leaders of the Roman

Catholic body perceive that its influences are adverse to the growth of

their tenets, and do not cease to demand the means of educating their

children apart from the children of those who hold religious beliefs

differing from theirs. But their proposals meet with no favour beyond

the limits of their own denomination, and even there only partial

support is given. The American Roman Catholic is more apt than his

brethren in Europe to fall into the disloyal practice of independent

judgment. It has not been found possible to alienate him wholly from

the common school.

It is of interest to inquire in what measure the American people have

been requited by the success of their common-school system for the

vast sums which they expend on its maintenance. At first sight the

statistics of the subject seem to return a discouraging reply to such

an inquiry. When the census of 1870 was taken it disclosed a high

percentage of illiteracy. Seventeen adult males and twenty-three adult

females in every hundred were wholly uneducated--numbers almost as high

as those of England at the same period. But the special circumstances

of the country explain these figures in a manner which relieves the

common school of all blame. The larger portion of this illiteracy had

its home in the Southern States and among the coloured population,

whose ignorance had been carefully preserved by wicked laws and a

corrupted public feeling. Again, America had received during the ten

years which preceded the census an immigration of four and a half

million persons. The educational condition of those strangers was low,

and their presence therefore bore injuriously upon the averages which

were reported. The common school must be judged in the Northern States

and among the native white population, for there only has it had full

opportunity to act. And there it has achieved magnificent success. In

the New England States there is not more than one uneducated native of

ten years and upwards in every hundred. In the other Northern States

the average is scarcely so favourable. The uneducated number from two

up to four in every hundred.

It thus appears that the common school has banished illiteracy from

the North. The native American of the Northern States is almost

invariably a person who has received, at the lowest, a sound primary

education. The efforts by which this result has been reached began with

the foundation of each State, and have been continued uninterruptedly

throughout its whole history. In the rising industrial competition of

the time, it must count for much that American artisans are not only

educated men and women, but are the descendants of educated parents. A

nation which expends upon education a sum larger than all the nations

of Europe unitedly expend; which contents itself with an army of

twenty-five thousand soldiers; whose citizens are exempt from the curse

of idle years laid by the governments of Continental Europe upon their

young men,--such a nation cannot fail to secure a victorious position

in the great industrial struggle which all civilized States are now

compelled to wage for existence.

CHAPTER V.

EUROPE AND AMERICA.

From the very dawn of her history, America has been a powerful factor

in the solution of many great European problems. In the early days

of her settlement she offered a welcome refuge from the oppression

and poverty of the Old World. Her assertion of independence inflamed

the impulses which were preparing the French Revolution with all its

unforeseen and incalculable consequences, and hastened the coming of

that tremendous occurrence. Throughout the half century of struggle

by which Europe vindicated her freedom, it was a constant stimulus

to patriot effort to know that, beyond the sea, there was a country

where men were at liberty to prosecute their own welfare unimpeded by

the restraints which despotism imposes. A constant light was thrown

by American experience upon the questions which agitated Europe. Men

accustomed to be told that they were unfit to bear any part in the

government of their country, saw men such as they themselves were

enjoying political privileges in America, and governing a continent to

the general advantage. Men accustomed to be told that State support was

indispensable to the existence of the Church, saw religion becomingly

upheld in America by the spontaneous offerings of the people. Methods

of government altogether unlike those of Europe were practised in

America; and Europe had constant opportunity of judging how far these

methods surpassed or fell short of her own. Europe lived under a

system of government which scarcely regarded individual rights, and

cared supremely for the interests of the State--meaning ordinarily by

that the interests or caprices of a very few persons. In America the

State was an organization whose purpose was mainly the protection of

individual rights. On the eastern shores of the Atlantic the belief

still prevailed that in every nation the Almighty had conveyed to some

one man the right to deal as he pleased with the lives and property of

all the others. On the western shores of the Atlantic a great nation

acted on the theory that national interests were merely the interests

which the aggregated individual citizens had in common,[10] and that

government was nothing more than an association of persons whose duty

it was to guide those interests in conformity with the public desire.

The American doctrine extended into Europe, and contributed in no

inconsiderable degree to the growth of liberal ideas and the overthrow

of despotism. The sustained exhibition upon a scale so vast of freedom

in thought and action, with its happy results in contentment and

prosperity, could not fail to impress deeply the oppressed nations

of Europe. Here were a people who made their own laws, who obeyed no

authority which was not of their own appointment, to whom decrees,

and ukases, and all the hateful utterances of despotism were unknown.

Here were millions of men enjoying perfect equality of opportunity

to seek their own welfare; here was life free from the burden of a

class inaccessibly superior to the great mass of the people. The daily

influences of American life sapped the fabric of privilege, and helped

the European people to vindicate the rights of which they had been

deprived.

The influence which America exerts upon the currents of European

history must continue to increase in power. Her population, reinforced

as it is by emigration from less happily circumstanced countries,

grows more rapidly than any European population. Her artisans are

better educated than those of any other country, and they are therefore

more effective for industrial purposes. They are free from the burden

of military service, which in Continental Europe absorbs those years

of a young man’s life when the hands gain expertness and the mind

forms habits of industry. In the capacity of mechanical invention--the

breath of life to an industrial nation--they are manifestly superior

to Europe. The competition of this intelligent, ingenious, rapidly

increasing people, fired by an ambition to become great as a

manufacturing nation, cannot fail to influence directly and powerfully

the industrial future of the European nations.

As the population and the wealth of America increase, the testimony

which her example bears in favour of individual right and absolute

freedom of thought will become more conspicuous and influential. The

rebuke which her attitude of universal peace and her inconsiderable

military expenditure administer to the diseased suspicions and

measureless waste of Europe will become more emphatic, perhaps even in

some degree more effective, than it has yet proved to be. Thus far,

the teaching of America in regard to the maintenance of huge armies

in time of peace has been rejected as inapplicable to the existing

circumstances of Europe. But it may fairly be hoped that in course

of years the industrial competition of a great people who have freed

themselves from heavy burdens which their competitors still bear will

enforce upon Europe economies of which neither governments nor people

are as yet sufficiently educated to perceive the necessity.

* * * * *

America has still something to learn from the riper experience and more

patient thinking of England. But it has been her privilege to teach to

England and the world one of the grandest of lessons. She has asserted

the political rights of the masses. She has proved to us that it is

safe and wise to trust the people. She has taught that the government

of the people should be “by the people and for the people.”

* * * * *

Let our last word here be a thankful acknowledgment of the inestimable

service which she has thus rendered to mankind.

POSTSCRIPT.[11]

PRESIDENT GARFIELD.

The reconstruction of the Union was completed during General Grant’s

term of office. The Presidentship of his successor, Mr. Rutherford B.

Hayes, was uneventful. It was not on that account the less fruitful

in good results. The complete amalgamation of the North and the South

could only be the work of time. President Hayes helped forward this

useful work. He visited the South in his first year of office, and was

everywhere well received.

The Census of 1880 showed the population of the United States to be

upwards of fifty million. The increase during the previous ten years

had been eleven million and a half, or at the extraordinary rate of

more than a million a year.

During Mr. Hayes’ Presidentship, two questions became prominent, and

sharply divided political parties. These were, the resumption of cash

payments, and the reform of the Civil Service.

[Sidenote: 1878 A.D.] The Currency Controversy is remarkable for having

brought the President into conflict with Congress. The Bland Silver

Bill, making the silver dollar a legal tender, was passed by large

majorities both in the House of Representatives and in the Senate.

President Hayes had no faith in the doctrine of bi-metallism, and he

vetoed the Bill. The Bill was re-passed in both Houses by a two-thirds

majority, and became law in spite of the presidential veto. The

conflict subjected the Constitution to a severe strain. But the crisis

passed quietly, showing how well-grounded is the faith of the Americans

in the fitness of their Constitution to meet all exigencies.

The demand for a reform in the Civil Service had been growing

for years. The revelations of electoral corruption filled men of

independent spirit with shame and confusion. The evil practices were

not confined to a particular party. Republicans and Democrats were

equally unscrupulous. It was proved by strict inquiry that in two

States the majority for President Hayes himself had been obtained by

fraudulent means. The constitutional custom which makes every office

in the Civil Service, from the highest to the lowest, change hands

whenever power is transferred from one party to another, was felt to be

the root of the evil.

[Sidenote: 1881 A.D.] When President James Garfield assumed office in

March 1881, he announced his intention of dealing firmly and earnestly

with the question of administrative reform. Garfield’s election to the

dignity of President was unexpected. The chief Republican candidates

were General Grant, who had previously held the office for two terms,

Secretary Sherman, and Senator Blaine. In the Republican convention

held at Chicago for the selection of a candidate, General Garfield

acted as manager of the party which supported Sherman. When he was

first proposed he declined to become a candidate. It was only when

Sherman’s success was seen to be impossible, and when all the parties

opposed to Grant coalesced in favour of Garfield, that his name came

to the front. He was ultimately chosen unanimously as the Republican

candidate, on the ground that he divided the party the least. In the

election itself, which was mainly determined by the vote of New York

State, Garfield defeated his Democratic opponent General Hancock by 219

votes to 185.

Comparatively little was known about the new President before he was

elected. Even in America his selection was a surprise. The chief fact

that was known about him was that he had risen, like Abraham Lincoln,

from the humblest origin. He had been born in a log-hut in the forest

of Ohio. He had begun life on the tow-path as a driver of mules which

dragged a canal boat between Cleveland and Pittsburg. By his own energy

alone he had risen. He had been a professor, a preacher, a successful

soldier, a practical lawyer, a bold and ready party leader. Throughout

life he had been noted for fearless honesty. In his public career, no

taint of corruption was found attaching to any part of his conduct. The

man who should undertake to reform the abuses in the official system of

America must himself have clean hands, and Garfield’s hands were clean.

General Garfield’s election was held to be a great triumph for the

Republican party, but especially for that section of it which advocated

Civil Service reform. He had made no secret of his opinions on that

subject. In the outline of his political creed which he issued soon

after his selection as Republican candidate he expressed his agreement

with those who urged the necessity of “placing the Civil Service on

a better basis.” The remedy to which he pointed was that “Congress

should devise a method that will determine the tenure of office.” In

his inaugural address on assuming office, he intimated his intention of

taking steps to apply this remedy. Two objects, he said, must be aimed

at. The one was to protect the executive against “the waste of time and

the obstruction to public business caused by the inordinate pressure

for place.” The other was to protect the holders of office “against

intrigue and wrong.” To effect both objects, he would “at the proper

time ask Congress to fix the tenure of the minor offices of several

executive departments, and prescribe grounds upon which removals shall

be made.” Further, he announced his purpose “to demand rigid economy

in all expenditures of the Government, and to require honest and

faithful service of all the executive officers, remembering that their

offices were created, not for the benefit of the incumbents or their

supporters, but for the service of the Government.”

These declarations did not give unmixed satisfaction to the Republican

party. The anti-reform section of it, which still holds by President

Jackson’s maxim, “The spoils to the victors,” regarded them as in

some sense a declaration of war. It is certain that to the hopes of

place-hunters they were a serious blow. For his honest desire to rid

the public offices of these pests, and at the same time to purify the

Government, the President was made to pay a terrible penalty. Within

the railway station at Washington he was shot in the back by a man

named Charles Guiteau, who for several days had been importuning the

authorities at White House for place.

The useless and utterly wanton crime sent a thrill of horror through

America, through England, through the civilized world. The shot did not

at once prove fatal; but that only made the cruelty of the deed the

more intense. For eleven weeks through the heat of summer (July 2 till

September 19) the President’s life trembled in the balance. He bore his

sufferings with marvellous patience and fortitude. The calamity brought

out the manly strength and the simple beauty of his character with the

brilliancy of sunset.

“In the reproof of chance

Lies the true proof of men.”

Seldom if ever before has there been so striking an instance of

misfortune raising a good man to world-wide renown. Hardly less

beautiful than the President’s cheerful endurance was the heroic

devotion of his wife. “It is no exaggeration to say,” said Mr.

James Russell Lowell, the American Minister in London, “that the

recent profoundly-touching spectacle of womanly devotedness, in its

simplicity, its constancy, and its dignity, has moved the heart of

mankind in a manner without any precedent in living memory.”

During the whole of these “eleven agonizing weeks” the bed of the

dying President was the centre of interest to men and women of all

ranks in both hemispheres. “The whole civilized world,” said Mr.

Lowell, “gathered about it; and in the breathless suspense of anxious

solicitude listened to the difficult breathing, counted the fluttering

pulse, was cheered by the momentary rally, and saddened by the

inevitable relapse.”

At length the end came with startling suddenness. It was followed by a

universal wail. All humanity mourned, as if it had lost a brother. The

sentiment pervaded all classes, from crowned heads to humble peasants.

The Queen of England was foremost in her offers of sympathy, not only

with the sorrowing widow and mother, but also with the bereaved nation;

and stanch Republicans were fain to acknowledge “how true a woman’s

heart may beat under the royal purple.” The English Court was ordered

to go into mourning, as for one of royal blood and ancient lineage.

The act was as graceful and as wise as it was unprecedented. The head

of the young Republic was, by the spontaneous act of the head of the

ancient Kingdom, recognized in his due place as one of the community of

monarchs and princes. A hundred years ago, who could have anticipated

such an event?

It would be a mistake to suppose that the death of President Garfield

created the warm feelings of sympathy between England and America which

the event revealed. It is true, however, that the event opened at once

the hearts and the eyes of both peoples, and brought to light the depth

and the strength of their brotherhood, in a way that nothing else could

have done. The brotherly feelings on the part of England were heartily

and even touchingly reciprocated in America. After the coffin of the

deceased President had been closed, only one wreath was allowed to

rest on it; and that was the wreath sent by the Queen of England. To

the world this was a token of peace and good-will firmly established

between England and America--of the oneness of the English-speaking

race, in their common homage to President and to Queen. If the result

shall be to strengthen permanently the bond between the kindred

peoples--to root out jealousies and smooth over asperities, to

produce generosity in the midst of rivalry and co-operation in good

works--President Garfield will not have died in vain.

“He was no common man,” said Mr. Lowell, in his graceful and eloquent

panegyric, “who could call forth, and justly call forth, an emotion so

universal, an interest so sincere and so human.” And that is no common

country which can produce such a man, and give him the opportunity

of achieving greatness. Garfield’s career teaches many lessons; but

it shows nothing more clearly than the great possibilities which his

country opens up to honesty and persevering labour. “The poor lad who

at thirteen could not read, dies at fifty the tenant of an office

second in dignity to none on earth; and the world mourns his loss as

that of a personal relative.”

* * * * *

“The soil out of which such men as he were made is good to be born on,

good to live on, good to die for and to be buried in.”

* * * * *

The peace and naturalness with which Vice-President Arthur at once

succeeded to the presidential functions, without shock to the political

system and without detriment to the national honour, justifies the

pride of the Americans in the stability of their institutions.

FOOTNOTES

[1] During the ten years, from 1840 to 1850, the annual export of

slaves from the Border States to the South averaged 23,500. These,

at an average value of £150, amounted to three million and a quarter

sterling!

[2] The local indebtedness of America has increased largely since the

war, and is now equal to one-half of the Federal debt. In many of

the States the Constitution now prohibits the State Legislature from

contracting debt excepting for war and other urgent purposes. There

is a growing opinion that this wise restriction should be universally

adopted.

[3] State and county taxation in the west ranges from five to

twenty-five cents per acre--2½d. to 12½d. National taxation is in

America 20s., and in Britain 47s. 2d., for each of the population.

[4] Wheat is now carried from Chicago to New York by lake and canal for

2s. 6d. per quarter, and by rail for 4s. From the northern parts of

Minnesota carriage to New York is 8s. per quarter.

[5] The American average is fourteen bushels of wheat per acre; the

English average is twenty-eight bushels; the Scotch average, under high

farming, is thirty-four bushels.

[6] Equal to three times the area of Great Britain.

[7] To the north of Minnesota and across the Canadian frontier lies the

province of Manitoba, a section of the North-West Territories recently

acquired by the Canadian Government from the Hudson Bay Company. In the

capability of a large portion of its soil to produce wheat Manitoba is

unsurpassed, perhaps unequalled, by any part of the world. An active

immigration is in progress: during the year 1879, when navigation was

open, the daily arrivals numbered four hundred. When communication by

rail and river is more adequate, Manitoba may be expected to take the

highest place as a wheat-producing country.

[8] The use of animal-power was not confined to America. In England

the earliest of Cartwright’s power-looms are said to have owed their

movement to the labour of a bull.

[9] “We regard [the education of the people] as a wise and liberal

system of police by which property and life and the peace of society

are secured.”--_Daniel Webster._

[10] “This country with its institutions belongs to the people who

inhabit it.”--_President Lincoln._

[11] This short chapter has been added since the author’s death, by

another hand.

THE DOMINION OF CANADA.

CHAPTER I.

THE DAWN OF CANADIAN HISTORY.

The dazzling success which had crowned the efforts of Columbus

awakened in Europe an eager desire to make fresh discoveries. Henry

VII. of England had consented to equip Columbus for his voyage; but

the consent was withheld too long, and given only when it was too

late. Lamenting now the great mischance by which the glory and the

profit of these marvellous discoveries passed away from him, Henry

lost no time in seeking to possess himself of such advantage as Spain

had not yet appropriated. There was living then in Bristol a Venetian

merchant named John Cabot. This man and his son Sebastian shared their

great countryman’s love of maritime adventure. [Sidenote: 1496 A.D.]

Under the patronage of the King, who claimed one-fifth of the gains

of their enterprise, they fitted out, at their own charge, a fleet of

six ships, and sailed westward into the ocean whose terrors Columbus

had so effectually tamed. They struck a northerly course, and reached

Newfoundland. [Sidenote: 1497 A.D.] Still bending northwards, they

coasted Labrador, hoping as Columbus did to gain an easy passage to

the East. They pierced deeper into the unknown north than any European

had done before. But day by day, as they sailed and searched, the cold

became more intense; the floating masses of ice became more frequent

and more threatening; the wished-for opening which was to conduct them

to Cathay did not reveal itself. Cabot, repulsed by unendurable cold,

turned and sought the more genial south. He steered his course between

the island of Newfoundland and the mainland, and explored with care

the gulf afterwards called by the name of St. Lawrence. Still moving

southwards, he passed bleak and desolate coasts which to-day are the

home of powerful communities, the seat of great and famous cities.

He had looked at the vast sea-board which stretches from Labrador to

Florida. He had taken no formal possession; his foot had scarcely

touched American soil. But when he reported to Henry what he had seen,

the King at once claimed the whole as an English possession.

Many years passed before the claim of England was heard of any more.

The stormy life of Henry came to its close. His son, around whose

throne there surged the disturbing influences of the Reformation, and

who was obliged in this anxious time to readjust the ecclesiastical

relations of himself and of his people, had no thought to spare for

those distant and unknown regions. The fierce Mary was absorbed in the

congenial employment of trampling out Protestantism by the slaughter

of its followers. The America upon which John Cabot--now an almost

forgotten name--had looked fourscore years before, was nearly as much

forgotten as its discoverer. But during the more tranquil reign of

Elizabeth there began that search for a north-west route to the East

which Europe has prosecuted from that time till now with marvellous

persistence and intrepidity. [Sidenote: 1576 A.D.] Martin Frobisher,

going forth on this quest, pierced further into the north than any

previous explorer had done. He looked again upon the bleak, ice-bound

coasts of Labrador and of southern Greenland. [Sidenote: 1583 A.D.]

Sir Humphrey Gilbert, acting under the Queen’s authority, visited

Newfoundland, and planted there an inconsiderable and unenduring

settlement. Another generation passed before England began to concern

herself about the shadowy and well-nigh forgotten claim which she had

founded upon the discoveries of John Cabot. It was indeed a shadowy

claim; but, even with so slender a basis of right, the power and

determination of England proved ultimately sufficient to establish and

maintain it against the world. The Pope had long ago bestowed upon the

Kings of Spain and Portugal the whole of the New World, with all its

“cities and fortifications;” but England gave no heed to the enormous

pretension which even France refused to acknowledge.[12]

Meanwhile, disregarding the dormant claims of England, France had made

some progress in establishing herself upon the new continent. She too

had in her service a mariner on whose visit to the West a claim was

founded. Thirty years after Cabot’s first voyage, John Verazzani--an

Italian, like most of the explorers--sailed from North Carolina to