Following the Boston Tea Party, Dec. 16, 1773, in which American Colonists dumped 342 containers of tea into the Boston harbor, the British Parliament enacted a series of Acts in response to the rebellion in Massachusetts. In May of 1774, General Thomas Gage, commander of all British military forces in the colonies, arrived in Boston, followed by the arrival of four regiments of British troops. The First Continental Congress met in the fall of 1774 in Philadelphia with 56 American delegates, representing every colony, except Georgia. On September 17, the Congress declared its opposition to the repressive Acts of Parliament, saying they are not to be obeyed, and also promoted the formation of local militia units. Thus economic and military tensions between the colonists and the British escalated. In February of 1775, a provincial congress was held in Massachusetts during which John Hancock and Joseph Warren began defensive preparations for a state of war. The English Parliament then declared Massachusetts to be in a state of rebellion. On March 23, in Virginia, the largest colony in America, a meeting of the colony's delegates was held in St. John's church in Richmond. Resolutions were presented by Patrick Henry putting the colony of Virginia into a posture of defense...embodying, arming, and disciplining such a number of men as may be sufficient for that purpose. Before the vote was taken on his resolutions, Henry delivered the speech below, imploring the delegates to vote in favor. He spoke without any notes in a voice that became louder and louder, climaxing with the now famous ending. Following his speech, the vote was taken in which his resolutions passed by a narrow margin, and thus Virginia joined in the American Revolution. No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism, as well as
abilities, of the very worthy gentlemen who have just addressed the House. But
different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I
hope that it will not be thought disrespectful to those gentlemen, if,
entertaining as I do opinions of a character very opposite to theirs, I shall
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 offense, 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 conduct of 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 been lately
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 these 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 motives 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 to them?
Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years.
Have we anything new to offer on 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 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, 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 the 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 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!
Patrick Henry - March 23, 1775
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