indeed to wonder by whom such an idea can have been entertained. Be it so: I will not press the point invidiously—it is not necessary for my argument. I have a right then to take it as admitted, that we could not have threatened war without being thoroughly prepared for it; and that, in determining to threaten, we must virtually have determined (whatever the chances of escaping that ultimate result) to go to war—that the determinations were in fact identical.
Neither will I discuss over again that other proposition, already sufficiently exhausted in former debates, of the applicability of a purely maritime war to a struggle in aid of Spain, in the campaign by which her fate is to be decided. I will not pause to consider what consolation it would have been to the Spanish nation—what source of animation, and what encouragement to perseverance in resisting their invader—to learn that, though we could not, as in the last war, march to their aid, and mingle our banners with theirs in battle, we were, nevertheless, scouring their coasts for prizes, and securing to ourselves an indemnification for our own expenses in the capture of Martinico.
To go to war therefore directly, unsparingly, vigorously against France, in behalf of Spain, in the way in which alone Spain could derive any essential benefit from our co-operation—to join her with heart and hand, or to wrap ourselves up in a real and bona fide neutrality—that was the true alternative.
Some gentlemen have blamed me for a want of enthusiasm upon this occasion—some, too, who formerly blamed me for an excess of that quality;
