THE REVOLUTIONARY WAR: A JUST CAUSE ?

An Oration in the House of Delegates by Fr. Charles Constantine Pise, D.D., when Chaplain of the United States Senate, delivered at Annapolis, Maryland, July 4th, 1833.

(I recently found the following piece from the Catholic Chaplain of the US Senate from 1883 defending the American Revolution. Thoughts? Agree? Disagree? Regardless, have a happy 4th of July!)

Rev. Charles Constantine Pise, D.D., when Chaplain of the United States Senate, delivered at Annapolis, Maryland, July 4th, 1833, an Oration in the House of Delegates, from which we extract the following:

If ever there was a just cause for a people to rise against their rulers, to struggle against oppression, and to assume a stand of defiance in the field and in their counsels, the colonists had that cause. The fierce spirit of tyranny breathed through all the legislation of Great Britain towards our country. Her grievances were numerous, disgraceful, insufferable. I shall not stop to enumerate them; they were admitted by the greatest statesmen in the British Cabinet, and described by the eloquence of the greatest orators in the British Senate. The mighty mind of Chatham beheld them as they existed and anticipated the result. With the thunders of his eloquence, he shook the walls of that Senate and the stoutest hearts of the ministry. “Illegal violence,” he said, “was committed in America.” The resistance to an arbitrary system of taxation might have been foreseen; it was obvious from the nature of things and mankind. The spirit which resisted taxation in America, he continued, is the same which formerly opposed, and with success opposed, loans and ship money in England—the same spirit which called all England on her legs, and by the bill of rights, vindicated the British Constitution.

And was it to be supposed that our forefathers, in the simplicity of whose lives was found the simplicity of virtue, the integrity and courage of freedom—“those true genuine sons of the earth,” as they were styled by Lord Chatham—would do otherwise than resist, and could be otherwise than invincible? They were not ordinary men; they did not, with blind fanaticism, rush forward without considering what they were risking and undertaking. They were fully convinced of the magnitude, peril, and importance of the object for which they contended, and maturely prepared for the disastrous consequences which would have followed a failure and a defeat. But that object was a sacred one—it was one that gave elevation, loftiness, and daring to the heart; energy, power, and perseverance to the soul. Their object was to give freedom, with freedom independence and dignity, and safety to their country; to secure for their children peace, happiness, prosperity; to light up their domestic hearts with Promethean fires of comfort, founded on the principles of equality; and on the ruins of the idols of slavery and oppression, to erect the temple of Liberty and Independence.

Yes, the result has proved what was admitted by the Earl of Chatham: that the men who engaged in this noble, this hallowed cause, were stamped with extraordinary characteristics, adorned with extraordinary virtues, and not inferior to the most famous personages in ancient times. “When your Lordships look at the papers transmitted from America,” exclaimed Lord Chatham, “when you consider their decency, firmness and wisdom, you cannot but respect their cause; for myself, I must declare and avow, that in all my reading and observation, and it has been my favorite study—I have read Thucydides and have studied and admired the master states of the world—that for solidity and reasoning, force of sagacity, and wisdom of conclusion, under such a complication of different circumstances, no nation or body of men can stand in preference to the general Congress at Philadelphia.”

What an eulogy this of the first representatives of our colonies, of the fathers of American liberty. What a panegyric from one whom England boasts of as the Demosthenes of her Senate! What a picture of the character, purpose, and wisdom of those rare men who assembled to consult for welfare and vindicate their rights, of their country! Any eloquence of modern eulogy must fall far short of that pronounced by the loftiest aristocrat, and most tremendous orator of the British nation, in favor of the handful of devoted patriots who drew up that splendid instrument which was read—and so gracefully read—this day, and which as a state paper, as a diplomatic composition, can vie with any production that had before, or since, emanated from united wisdom and virtue of any ancient or modern nation. Of these extraordinary personages who signed the glorious instrument, and whose names are now held up to the world as lights and ornaments, shedding brilliancy on the firmament of fame and glory on the horizon of immortality, one was born, the other was adopted, in the city where we are now commemorating their virtues—and their voices, which now have been stilled by the grave, once resounded through the halls of this edifice. Carroll and Chase! sons of Annapolis! The genius of this place, sitting under the bowers that shade the beauteous Severn, strings her harp to your praise; shades of those venerable men, of those benefactors of the human race, smile down from your spheres of bliss and glory, on your country and your town! May the one flourish forever under the influence of that Independence which you so efficaciously contributed to achieve; and may the other, while she is ever grateful for your services, mindful of your actions, proud of your memories, be, as she has always been, distinguished for her patriotism, hospitality, and liberality. Yes, fair city of the Severn, mayest thou, in the language of Virgil—

“Simul Heroum laudes, et facta parentis

Jam legere, et quae sit poteris cognoscere virtus.”

And who were the warriors who, at the call of their country, buckled on their armour, put themselves at the head of their fellow-citizens, and went forth to battle against the most warlike and potent nation in Europe? Who were they who raised among our woods the standard of ancient Rome, and called back into life the eagles of liberty? Were they trained to the arts of warfare; disciplined, from their boyhood, in some military school; taught to wield the sword, and grasp the spear, and grapple with the foemen? Were they veterans in the field of battle—acquainted with danger, accustomed to heat and cold, to hunger and thirst? No—those brave men were not soldiers by profession—they had, most of them, pursued the quiet walks of life, happy in their paternal fields, loving to till the ground, and delighting in the retirement and simplicity of rural pursuits. The tranquility of their vales had never been ruffled by the din of war; the noise of the drum and the peal of the cannon had never thundered over their sequestered retreats. Even he who headed the armies of freedom quitted the ploughshare for the sword of battle. It was no lust of military fame, no hope of spoil or booty, that spurred them to the field—it was their country’s wrongs that nerved their arms, her voice appealing to their patriotism that roused them to action, and to deeds of noble daring. It was freedom that glowed in their bosoms, that beat in their veins, that throbbed in their hearts. It was, in the strain of Thompson:

“Devotion to the public, glorious fame,

Celestial ardor—”

Without arms, ammunition, or navy, they had to contend with veterans abounding in all the implements of war, acquainted with all its tactics, skilled in all its arts, familiarized with all its perils—whose ships darkened the waters of every clime, and whose maritime power had wrenched from the world the trident of old ocean. But the mighty soul of the patriot, to use the forcible language of Judge Breckenridge, “drank in the danger, and like the eagle on the mountain top, collected magnanimity from the very prospect of the height from which it meant to soar.” And may I not add, from that height the bird of Jove hurled down his thunders on the king of beasts and pounced upon its mighty prey?

I shall not attempt to enter into the details of the war; to enumerate the circumstances and progress of five campaigns—their pitched battles, skirmishes, and valorous achievements—I shall not describe the bravery and success with which every inch of the ground was disputed—how heroes met foot to foot, point to point, sword to sword, breast to breast—how every tract of region was marked with the vestiges of war and reddened with the blood of freemen; how, nobly fighting in their country’s cause, many of the best and bravest fell upon the plain, in the arms of Liberty and Glory. Shall I mention the names of those heroes? They shall be emblazoned on the pillars of fame—on columns more perennial than bronze—and shall be encircled with the same halo which adorns those of Epaminondas, Miltiades, Pausanias, and the worthies of Greece and Rome. Posterity shall point to them as models of patriotism, examples of devotedness to the public weal, as martyrs to their country’s good. Their praises shall tremble on the poet’s lyre, and their fame, “like the vestal lamp,” shall be lighted up never more to be extinguished. Gallant and distinguished as Warren, prudent and intrepid as Macpherson, bold and resolute as Haslet and Mercer; devoted and persevering as Herkimer and Wooster, will be proverbial among the children of America. Thousands of others have earned unfading laurels, reaped a harvest of immortality on the field of battle:

“Thousands the tribute of our praise demand;

But who can count the stars of Heaven,

Who speak their influence on this lower world?”

Notwithstanding the great talents of our countrymen, which the emergencies of the times called forth and excited; notwithstanding their devotedness, determination and patriotism, our cause would have been doubtful, had it not been supported by the power and virtue of foreign volunteers. Immortal thanks and gratitude are due to the illustrious but unfortunate monarch, the martyred Louis XVI, who, by his timely assistance, taught our fathers not to despair, and joined them in alliance on terms of perfect equality; furnished them with money and military stores, and efficaciously contributed to put a period to the revolutionary struggle.

And what shall I say of the far-famed individuals who quitted their country and their families, entered into our armies, fought our battles, and won our victories! What eulogy can do justice to the gallant Lafayette, whose toils did not cease with the war, but whose endeavors to establish our interests in commercial and political arrangements yield not to the splendor of his achievements during the contest? That aged companion of Washington, after an interval of nearly half a century, has continued the steady friend of our country and our institutions. He has revisited our shores—he had a favorable opportunity of judging of the effects of our independence, and the blessing of liberty—and the welcome, the enthusiastic gratulations, the triumphal arches, the trophies of honor, the expressions of respect, the universal jubilee of the entire republic, have borne witness to the gratitude which we cherish for him, and the veneration in which his name is held.

In conjunction with Lafayette, the memories of other foreign heroes burst upon our view. Shall time ever obscure the lustre that brightens the names of Rochambeau and Chastellux; of D’Estaing, De Grasse, or De Barras—and Kosciuszko—Kosciuszko who fought from the Hudson to the Potomac, from the Atlantic to the lakes of Canada—Kosciuszko! who, in the language of Von Niemcewicz, who delivered his eulogium at Warsaw, “patiently endured incredible fatigue, acquired immortal renown—and, what is infinitely more valuable in his estimation, ensured the gratitude of a liberated nation.” The American flag waved over the forts in the United States, and the great work of liberation was finished, before he would consent to return to his native Poland—

“Freedom shrieked when Kosciuszko died!”

It is a special privilege for me to have it in my power, this day, to strew my handful of flowers over the urns, and add my leaf of glory to the chaplets, of such god-like men. No matter from what quarter of the world they might have come, or in what clime they might have been cradled; no matter what language they might have spoken, or what religion they might have professed. But double is that privilege, and most consoling to my bosom the circumstance, when I reflect that the nations which gave birth to those immortal benefactors of America, those pure and lofty lovers of liberty and republicanism, were Roman Catholics.

France, at that era, saw upon her throne the worthy descendant of Louis XIV, the religious successor of Charlemagne and Louis IX—enthusiastic in his attachment to his creed, and yet the avowed patron of American independence—the powerful co-operator in setting our country free, and at length a martyr to the principles of his Church, the convictions of his conscience—the victim—whom posterity shall ever be proud to venerate—to fanaticism and anarchy.

Poland, the birth-place of Kosciuszko, from immemorial ages, the land of Catholicism and the home of the spirit of freedom. Her name is synonymous with patriotism, magnanimity, glory, and misfortune. Impatient of slavery, she writhes under oppression; born for liberty, she is yoked to the car of despotism. She has arisen in her indignation, and with a spirit that cannot brook the yoke, and a soul that bursts from its manacles, and a heart that breaks under tyranny, has attempted to be free. But her efforts were crushed by the wrath of Russia; the hosts of serfs and Cossacks swarmed over her plains like the locusts over Egypt. The Leviathan of the North has devoured the hopes of Polish liberty. The most gallant nation is in chains—she whose arm was ever extended to befriend the cause of freedom has been seen to fall, without the prospect of resurrection, into the grave of oppression.

“Her fathers were among the brave and free,

And good as free, and virtuous as brave.

Spirit of Sobieski, rise!—to thee

Poland appeals! Rise from thine honored grave!

As the pennons of thy country wave

Over her bright spears and lances, point again

To glory’s pillar reared on Choczim’s plain.

Sons of brave Poland! turn your eyes to where

Your Sobieski paused to send to heaven

For his dear country and her sons this prayer:

‘To thee be liberty forever given.’”

The conduct of France and Poland, in our regard, ought to silence forever the voice of prejudice which, even at the present day, proclaims the Roman Catholic religion hostile to the genius of republican institutions. And I rejoice that so auspicious an occasion presents itself in which I may adduce, in refutation of such groundless assertions, the actions of Catholic countries and Catholic individuals. Among the signers of the American independence, Carroll was a Catholic—and not in theory merely, but a rigid, practical, devoted member of the Catholic Church. In his old age, he looked back with the calmest complacency on the part which he took during the Revolution. As he sank into the grave, he was supported by the consolations of religion, and cheered to the end by the recollection of his youthful efforts to disenthrall his country.

One of the commissioners appointed by the first Congress to treat with the Canadians was the Rev. John Carroll, a Roman Catholic priest and afterwards first Archbishop of Baltimore. He did not deem it incompatible with his character, or repugnant to his religious principles, to unite with Chase, Franklin, and Charles Carroll in the cause of liberty—not, indeed, to rouse the Canadians to rebellion, but to persuade them to remain neutral during the contest and the struggle.

I mention these facts not in the spirit of sectarian triumph, but as a refutation of the assertion which is so frequently made—and by some may, perhaps, be believed—that the nature of our religion precludes the love of liberty; that our dependence on a foreign ecclesiastical jurisdiction subjects us to foreign domination.

Was it not stated—I regret to be obliged to speak of myself individually, but the subject and the occasion will be my apology—was it not circulated through the press, as an argument against my election to the Chaplaincy of the Senate, that I am subject to the Pope? That I had made an oath of allegiance to him as a temporal lord, and that certain honors have been conferred on me which exclude me from the birthrights of my country? Shall I contradict all these assertions? Is it necessary before such an assembly for me to declare that I know of no temporal connection existing between myself and the Pope? I acknowledge no allegiance to his temporal power—I am no subject of his dominions—I have sworn no fealty to his throne—but I am, as all American Catholics glory to be, independent of all foreign temporal authority—devoted to freedom, to unqualified toleration, to republican institutions. America is our country; her laws are our safeguard; her Constitution our Magna Charta; her tribunals our appeal; her Chief Magistrate our national head—to all of which we are subject and obedient, in accordance with the injunction of our religion, which commands us to give honor where honor is due, to be subject to the powers that are, and to give unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.

Yes, my country, while one spark of freedom’s fire still lingers in this world, we shall be found ready, eager, anxious to kindle into a blaze the lurking scintillation. We shall be the ardent friends of liberty properly understood—liberty such as flourishes in our happy realms—liberty the best boon of heaven, when not abused—liberty founded on virtue and religion:

“Unblest by virtue, government and league

Become a circling junto of the great

To rob the law.

What are without it, senates, save a face

Of consultation deep and reason free,

While the determined heart and voice are sold.

What boasted freedom but a sounding name?

And what election but a market vile

Of slaves self-bartered.”

And is it not to secure such liberty for his country that O’Connell is now struggling? And if there is a people on earth that deserves to be free, is it not the ardent, generous, persevering people of Ireland? How long has that island been lashed by the scourge of tyranny, even as the tempest lashes her craggy shores. The lament of her harp, the thrilling, mournful anthem of her bards, resound through her verdant vales and are wafted by the winds across the ocean waves. In the midst of her waters she sits solitary all the day long, looking forward with fearful emotion for a better fate. One powerful stroke has been given by the Liberator’s hand to sever her fetters in twain, but the decisive one is still withheld that will rescue her from her fatal union with the unrelenting isle and leave her an independent nation, with her own laws, constitution, parliament, and religion. It is a remarkable fact, which should not be forgotten amid the prejudice of the present age, that there never existed a people more staunchly, immovably, fearlessly devoted to the Catholic religion, or more aspiring after their rights, more yearning after their own liberty, and more ready to assist in the cause of general freedom.

Oh! may their most sanguine wishes be accomplished; their unyielding exertions be rewarded; their untiring perseverance be crowned with success; and may posterity, when pointing their children’s attention to the great and the good in the temple of fame, be able to say: Behold in that niche, which is nearest to the bust of Washington, the statue of O’Connell, who not only abolished the penal laws but made of Ireland a separate kingdom, and gave her that lofty station which she so fully deserves to hold among the nations of the earth.

As for us, my fellow-citizens, when we look around and behold the elevation to which we have attained as a free government—our country teeming with a numerous, thriving, enterprising population; emigration from all parts of the world to our shores, and sweeping its tide to the foot of the Rocky Mountains; civilization penetrating into the deepest recesses of our forests; education spreading abroad its refining influence; religion suffusing her heaven-born blessings, giving glory to God and peace to men; manufactures flourishing; industry felling the trees in the wilderness and making the plains to teem with abundance; commerce crowding the deep with our ships and our produce, uniting these shores with those beyond the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans; internal improvements facilitating our correspondence and communication—canals wafting their waters through the roughest regions, and railroads smoothing down the mountains and stretching from the Chesapeake Bay to the far Ohio—when we contemplate all these signal blessings, these ennobling privileges—when we see our flag floating in the winds of every clime, streaming down upon every sea, acknowledged, respected, feared—toleration of all religious denominations—full and unqualified liberty of conscience—the admitted right to worship at our altars according to our convictions, without being shackled by any penal law, degraded by any civil disqualification, as was the case before the Revolution—what should be our gratitude to the great “Giver of every good gift”? How should our hearts expand in praise and thanksgiving for His especial favors and benedictions, and how cautious should we all be, by good works and religious dispositions, to deserve a continuance of His mercy and providential care.

As long as we correspond with the beneficial designs of heaven—as long as we view the interposition of our Omnipotent Father in our liberation from our primitive condition—His arm will be extended over us. America shall be free—shall be independent! The prediction of the poet shall be perfectly realized:

“Fly time, oh, lash thy fiery steeds away.

Roll, rapid wheels, and bring the smiling day,

When these blest states, another promised land,

Chosen and fostered by the Almighty hand,

Supreme shall rise,—their crowned shores shall be

The fixed abodes of Empire and Liberty.”

I have spoken.

“THE AMERICAN FLAG”

By Rev. Charles Constantine Pise, D.D.

They say I do not love thee,

Flag of my native land;

Whose meteor folds above me,

To the free breeze expand;

Thy broad stripes proudly streaming,

And thy stars so brightly gleaming.

They say I would forsake thee,

Should some dark crisis lower;

That, recreant, I should make thee

Crouch to a foreign power;

Seduced by license ample,

On thee, best flag, to trample.

They say that bolts of thunder,

Cast in the forge of Rome,

May rise and bring thee under,

Flag of my native home,

And with one blow dissever

My heart from thee forever.

False are the words they utter,

Ungenerous their brand;

And rash the oaths they mutter,

Flag of my native land;

Whilst still, in hope above me,

Thou wavest—and I love thee!

God is my love’s first duty,

To whose eternal name

Be praise for all thy beauty,

Thy grandeur and thy fame;

But ever have I reckoned

Thine, native flag, my second.

Woe to the foe or the stranger,

Whose sacrilegious hand,

Would touch thee, or endanger,

Flag of my native land.

Though some would fain discard thee,

Mine should be raised to guard thee.

Then wave, thou first of banners,

And in thy gentle shade,

Beliefs, opinions, manners,

Promiscuously be laid;

And there, all discord ended,

Our hearts and souls be blended.

Stream on, stream on, before us,

Thou labarum of light,

While in one generous chorus,

Our vows to thee we plight;

Unfaithful to thee—never!

My native land forever.

Bishop Hughes on the American Flag

Letter to Mayor Harper of New York, May 17, 1844

I can even now remember my reflections on first beholding the American flag. It never crossed my mind that a time might come when that flag, the emblem of freedom, should be divided, by apportioning its stars to the citizens of native birth and its stripes only as the portion of the foreigner. I was, of course, but young and inexperienced; and yet, even recent events have not diminished my confidence in that ensign of civil and religious liberty. It is possible that I was mistaken; but still I cling to the delusion, if it be one, and as I trusted to that flag, on a Nation’s faith, I think it more likely that its stripes will disappear altogether; and that before it shall be employed as an instrument of bad faith, toward the foreigners of every land, the white portions will blush with crimson; and then the glorious stars alone will remain.

— [Maury’s Statesmen of America, p. 532]