No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen if, entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The questing before the House is one of awful moment to this country. For my own part, I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our country. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty toward the Majesty of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.
Mr. President, it
is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to
shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that
siren till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men,
engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to
be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and, having ears,
hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation?
For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to
know the whole truth; to know the worst, and to provide for it.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp
of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the
past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in
the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify
those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves
and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has
been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your
feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves
how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike
preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and
armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown
ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to
win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the
implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings
resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its
purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any
other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this
quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and
armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant
for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains
which the British ministry have been so long forging. And what have we
to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that
for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject?
Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is
capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and
humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been
already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves.
Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm
which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we
have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and
have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the
ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our
remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our
supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with
contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may
we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no
longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-- if we mean to
preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been
so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle
in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged
ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest
shall be obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An
appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable
an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week,
or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a
British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather
strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of
effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the
delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand
and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means
which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of
people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as
that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can
send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone.
There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who
will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is
not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave.
Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it,
it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but
in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be
heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable and let it come!
I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate
the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace but there is no peace.
The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north
will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are
already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen
wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to
be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty
God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me
liberty or give me death!
Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775.