The War Inevitable

Patrick Henry (1736-1799)

March 23, 1775

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 of awful moment to this country.
For my own part, I consider it 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 fulfil 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 as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty towards 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 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 lately been 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 to be 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 into 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 that 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 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 at 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 posess, 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!"

America