holy indignation, denounces these acts as “treasonable;” “giving aid and comfort to the enemy.” I shall not follow his example. But I will ask, With what justice or propriety can the south be accused of disloyalty from that quarter? If we had any evidence that the senator from Massachusetts had admonished his brethren then, he might, with a better grace, assume the office of admonishing us now.
When I look at the measures adopted in Boston, at that day, to deprive the government of the necessary means for carrying on the war, and think of the success and the consequences of these measures, I feel my pride, as an American, humbled in the dust. Hear, sir, the language of that day. I read from pages 301 and 302 of the Olive Branch. “Let no man who wishes to continue the war, by active means, by vote, or lending money, dare to prostrate himself at the altar on the fast day.” “Will federalists subscribe to the loan? Will they lend money to our national rulers? It is impossible. First, because of principle, and secondly, because of principal and interest.” “Do not prevent the abusers of their trust from becoming bankrupt. Do not prevent them from becoming odious to the public, and being replaced by better men.” “Any federalist who lends money to government must go and shake hands with James Madison, and claim fellowship with Felix Grundy.” (I beg pardon of my honorable friend from Tennessee—but he is in good company. I had thought it was “James Madison, Felix Grundy, and the devil.”) Let him no more “call himself a federalist, and a friend to his country: he will be called by others infamous,” &c.
Sir, the spirit of the people sunk under these appeals. Such was the effect produced by them on the public mind, that the very agents of the government (as appears from their public advertisements, now before me) could not obtain loans without a pledge that “the names of the subscribers should not be known.” Here are the advertisements: “The names of all subscribers” (say Gilbert and Dean, the brokers employed by government) “shall be known only to the undersigned.” As if those who came forward to aid their country, in the hour of her utmost need, were engaged in some dark and foul conspiracy, they were assured “that their names should not be known.” Can any thing show more conclusively the unhappy state of public feeling which prevailed at that day than this single fact? Of the same character with these measures was the conduct of Massachusetts in withholding her militia from the service of the United States, and devising measures for withdrawing her quota of the taxes, thereby attempting, not merely to cripple the resources of the country, but actually depriving the government (as far as depended upon her) of all the means of carrying on the war—of the bone, and muscle, and sinews of war—“of man and steel—the soldier and his sword.” But it seems Massachusetts was to reserve her resources for herself—she was to defend and protect her own shores. And how was that duty performed? In some places on the coast neutrality was declared, and the enemy was suffered to invade the soil of Massachusetts, and allowed to occupy her territory until the peace, without one effort to rescue it from his grasp. Nay, more—while our own government and our rulers were considered as enemies, the troops of the enemy were treated like friends—the most intimate commercial relations were established with them, and maintained up to the peace. At this dark period of our national affairs, where was the senator from Massachusetts? How were his political associates employed? “Calculating the value of the Union?”
