class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[Pg 13]"/> but simply from the facts,—as often in judicial proceedings it is less embarrassing to determine the law than the facts. If things are seen as they really are and not as Senators fancy or desire, if the facts are admitted in their natural character, then must the constitutional power of the Government be admitted also, for this power comes into being on the occurrence of certain facts. Only by denying the facts can the power itself be drawn in question. But not even the Senator from Pennsylvania or the Senator from Vermont denies the facts.

The facts are simple and obvious. They are all expressed or embodied in the double idea of Rebellion and War. Both of these are facts patent to common observation and common sense. It would be an insult to the understanding to say that at the present moment there is no Rebellion or that there is no War. Whatever the doubts of Senators, or their fine-spun constitutional theories, nobody questions that we are in the midst of de facto Rebellion and in the midst of de facto War. We are in the midst of each and of both. It is not enough to say that there is Rebellion; nor is it enough to say that there is War. The whole truth is not told in either alternative. Our case is double, and you may call it Rebellion or War, as you please, or you may call it both. It is Rebellion swollen to all the proportions of war, and it is War deriving its life from rebellion. It is not less Rebellion because of its present full-blown grandeur, nor is it less War because of the traitorous source whence it draws its life.

The Rebellion is manifest,—is it not? An extensive territory, once occupied by Governments rejoicing in allegiance to the Union, and sharing largely in its counsels, has undertaken to overthrow the National Constitution within its borders. Its Senators and Representatives have withdrawn from Congress. The old State Governments, solemnly bound by the oaths of their functionaries to support the National Constitution, have vanished; and in their place appear pretended Governments, which, adopting the further pretension of a Confederacy, have proceeded to issue letters of marque and to levy war against the United States. So far has displacement of the National Government prevailed, that at this moment, throughout this whole territory, there are no functionaries acting under the United States, but all are pretending to act under the newly established Usurpation. Instead of the oath to support the Constitution of the United States, required of all officials by the Constitution, another oath is substituted, to support the Constitution of the Confederacy; and thus the Rebellion assumes a completeness of organization under the most solemn sanctions. In point of fact, throughout this territory the National Government is ousted, while the old State Governments have ceased to exist, lifeless now from Rebel hands. Call it suicide, if you will, or suspended animation, or abeyance,—they have practically ceased to exist. Such is the plain and palpable fact. If all this is not rebellion, complete in triumphant treason, then is rebellion nothing but a name.

But the War is not less manifest. Assuming all the functions of an independent government, the Confederacy has undertaken to declare war against the United States. In support of this declaration it has raised armies, organized a navy, issued letters of marque, borrowed money, imposed taxes, and otherwise done all that it could in waging war. Its armies are among the largest ever marshalled by a single people, and at different places throughout a wide-spread territory they have encountered the armies of the United States. Battles are fought with the varying vicissitudes of war. Sieges are laid. Fortresses and cities are captured. On the sea, ships bearing the commission of the Rebellion, sometimes as privateers and sometimes as ships of the navy, seize, sink, or burn merchant vessels of the United States; and only lately an iron-clad steamer, with the flag of the Rebellion, destroyed two frigates of the United States. On each side prisoners are made, who are treated as prisoners of war, and as such exchanged. Flags of truce pass from camp to camp, and almost daily during the winter this white flag has afforded its belligerent protection to communications between Norfolk and Fortress Monroe, while the whole Rebel coast is by proclamation of the President declared in a state of blockade, and ships of foreign countries, as well as of our own, are condemned by courts in Washington, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston, as prize of war. Thus do all things attest the existence of war, which is manifest now in the blockade, upheld by judicial tribunals, and now in the bugle, which after night sounds truce, indubitably as in mighty armies face to face on the battle-field. It is war in all its criminal eminence, challenging all the pains and penalties of war, enlisting all its terrible prerogatives, and awaking all its dormant thunder.

Further effort is needless to show that we are in the midst of a Rebellion and in the midst of a War,—or, in yet other words, that unquestionable war is now waged to put down unquestionable rebellion. But a single illustration out of many in history will exhibit this double character in unmistakable relief. The disturbances which convulsed England in the middle of the seventeenth century were occasioned by the resistance of Parliament to the arbitrary power of the Crown. This resistance, prolonged for years and maintained by force, triumphed at last in the execution of King Charles and the elevation of Oliver Cromwell. The historian whose classical work was for a long time the chief authority relative to this event styles it “The Rebellion,” and under this name it passed into the memory of men. But it was none the less war, with all the incidents of war. The fields of Naseby, Marston Moor, Dunbar, and Worcester, where Cavaliers and Puritans met in bloody shock, attest that it was war. Clarendon called it Rebellion, and the title of one of his works makes it “The Grand Rebellion,”—how small by the side of ours! But a greater than Clarendon—John Milton—called it War, when, in unsurpassed verses, after commemorating the victories of Cromwell, he uses words so often quoted without knowing their original application:—