Following the Boston Tea Party, Dec. 16, 1773, in which American Colonists1 dumped 342 containers of tea into the Boston harbor, the British Parliament enacted2 a series of Acts in response to the rebellion in Massachusetts.
In May of 1774, General Thomas Gage3, commander of all British military forces in the colonies, arrived in Boston, followed by the arrival of four regiments4 of British troops.
The First Continental5 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 opposition6 to the repressive Acts of Parliament, saying they are "not to be obeyed," and also promoted the formation of local militia7 units.
Thus economic and military tensions between the colonists and the British escalated8. In February of 1775, a provincial9 congress was held in Massachusetts during which John Hancock and Joseph Warren began defensive10 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 posture11 of defense12...embodying13, 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, imploring14 the delegates to vote in favor.
He spoke15 without any notes in a voice that became louder and louder, climaxing16 with the now famous ending. Following his speech, the vote was taken in which his resolutions passed by a narrow margin17, and thus Virginia joined in the American Revolution.
No man thinks more highly than I do of the patriotism18, as well as abilities, of the very worthy19 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 forth20 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 fulfill21 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 offense22, I should consider myself as guilty of treason towards my country, and of an act of disloyalty towards the majesty23 of heaven, which I revere24 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 arduous25 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 salvation26?
For my part, whatever anguish27 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 ministry28 for the last ten years, to justify29 those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace30 themselves and the House?
Is it that insidious31 smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare32 to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports33 with these warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation34? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling35 to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements36 of war and subjugation37 -- the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial38 array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission39? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motives40 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 bind41 and rivet42 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 entreaty43 and humble44 supplication45? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted46? Let us not, I beseech47 you, sir, deceive ourselves longer.
Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert48 the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated49; we have supplicated50; we have prostrated51 ourselves before the throne, and have implored52 its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament.
Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances53 have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned54, 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 inviolate55 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 adversary56. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed57, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution58 and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive59 phantom60 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 invincible61 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 vigilant62, 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 inevitable63 -- and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come!
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate64 the matter. Gentlemen may cry, "Peace! Peace!" -- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale65 that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding66 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, Almighty67 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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