Lion of Liberty (42 page)

On March 23, 1775, Patrick Henry stood before the Second Revolutionary Convention of Virginia in Richmond and proposed three resolutions to organize and arm a militia. After some members of the Assembly expressed their opposition, Henry presented his arguments in the most inspiring oratory in American history until Abraham Lincoln's
Gettysburg Address
. Henry's speech was a declaration of war against the British government that set her American colonies on the road to independence. The following is what remains of Henry's original text. Ellipses represent missing or obscured elements in the original text. Some of the original punctuation (but no spellings) have been changed for greater clarity and consistency.
¹

 

Resolved
, That a well-regulated militia, composed of gentlemen and yeomen is the natural strength and only security of a free government; that such a militia in this colony would forever render it unnecessary for the mother country to keep among us for the purpose of our defence any standing army of mercenary forces, always subversive of the quiet and dangerous to the liberties of the people, and would obviate the pretext of taxing us for their support.

 

Resolved
, That the establishment of such a militia is at this time particularly necessary, by the state of our laws for the protection and defence of the country, some of which have already expired, and others will shortly do so; and that the known remissness of government in calling us together in a legislative capacity, renders it too insecure, in this time of danger and distress, to rely that opportunity will be given of renewing them in general assembly, or making any provision to secure our inestimable rights and liberties from those further violations with which they are threatened.

Resolved, therefore
, That this colony be immediately put into a posture of defence; and that . . . be a committee to prepare a plan for embodying, arming, and disciplining such a number of men as may be sufficient for that purpose.

No man, Mr. President, thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as the abilities, of the very honorable 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 should speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question 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 offence, I should consider myself guilty of treason towards my country and of an act of disloyalty towards the majority of Heaven, which I revere above all earthly kings.

Mr. President, it is natural for 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 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 the 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 [by King George III]? 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 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 already been exhausted?

Let us not, I beseech you, Sir, deceive ourselves longer. 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. Three 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 the 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!
²

 

It is not a little surprising that the professors of Christianity, whose chief excellence consists in softening the human heart and in cherishing and improving its finer feelings, should encourage a practice so totally repugnant to the first impressions of right and wrong. What adds to the wonder is that this abominable practice has been introduced in the most enlightened ages. Times, that seem to have pretensions to boast of high improvements in the arts and sciences and refined morality, have brought into general use and guarded by many laws, a species of violence and tyranny which our more rude and barbarous, but more honest, ancestors detested. Is it not amazing that, at a time when the rights of humanity are defined and understood with precision in a country, above all others, fond of liberty, that in such an age and in such a country, we find men professing a religion the most humane, mild, gentle, and generous, adopting a principle as repugnant to humanity as it is inconsistent with the Bible and destructive to liberty? Every thinking, honest man rejects it in speculation; how few in conscientious motives!

Would anyone believe I am master of slaves of my own purchase? I am drawn along by the general inconvenience of living here without them. I will not, I cannot justify it. However culpable my conduct, I will so far pay my devoir to virtue as to own the excellence and rectitude of her precepts and lament my want of conformity to them.

I believe a time will come when an opportunity will be offered to abolish this lamentable evil. Everything we can do is to improve it, if it happens in our day; if not, let us transmit to our descendants, together with our slaves, a pity for their unhappy lot
and an abhorrence of slavery. If we cannot reduce this wished-for reformation to practice, let us treat the unhappy victims with lenity. It is the furthest advance we can make toward justice. It is a debt we owe to the purity of our religion, to show that it is at variance with that law which warrants slavery.

I know not when to stop. I should say many things on the subject, a serious view of which gives a gloomy perspective to future times.
¹

Dorothea Henry married Judge Edmund Winston a few years after Patrick Henry's death—a common and often essential practice in early America for widows and widowers with children to raise. A c0ceived their proper shares of Henry's estate. Dorothea died in 1831 and chose to be buried beside Henry at Red Hill, with the “Henry” surname inscribed on her slab. Henry's house at Red Hill burned to the ground in 1919, although the property remained in the Henry family until 1944, when the Patrick Henry Foundation was formed to purchase the property and reconstruct its original buildings—the house, law office, and outbuildings. Now a national memorial, Red Hill, in Brookneal, Virginia, is open to visitors the year around.

Few of Patrick Henry's children and grandchildren achieved national eminence or renown. “For the most part,” says historian Edith C. Poindexter, former curator of the Patrick Henry National Memorial at Red Hill, “they became solid citizens, but were more often than not remembered as being children of Patrick Henry.” Of his ten surviving sons by his two marriages, six attended Hampden-Sydney College in Prince Edward County, although one—Nathaniel—was expelled. Three of Henry's sons became sheriffs: William, Edward, and John. Three others—Edward (“Neddy”), Fayette, and Patrick, Jr.—became lawyers, but all died young, at twenty-three, twenty-seven, and twenty-one, respectively. All three sons by his first marriage died in the 1790s before Henry himself. John the older, who went “raving mad” after the Battle of Saratoga, recovered his health and became a farmer on the 1,000-acre parcel his father gave him at Leatherwood, in Henry County. John married, but, in 1791, only months after the birth of his only child (a son), he died at the age of thirty-four. William, the
next oldest, was a sheriff and died in 1798 at thirty-five, and Edward (“Neddy”) died in 1794 at the age of twenty-three.

Of his seven sons by his second marriage, Patrick Jr. and Fayette, as mentioned, were lawyers who died in their twenties. Alexander and Nathaniel married into wealthy families, became land speculators and died penniless, Alexander at age sixty-five and Nathaniel at age sixty-one. Edward Winston, a successful farmer, died at seventy-eight, and John the younger inherited half of Red Hill and spent his life there, running the plantation, raising a family, following “the gentle pursuits of literature,” and dying at seventy-one after “a peaceful and honorable life.” All of Henry's daughters married well and lived normal lives for their era as housewives and mothers.