WRITINGS OF SAM HOUSTON, 1850
143
Jackson, in whose language, and in every line he wrote, patriotism and a love of country burned, and gave lustre to all his actions- well, then, if he has friends, if Washington has friends, if surviv- ing and dist_inguished statesmen have friends, I invoke them, by the love of country, by the high and holy privileges we enjoy, to think of home. Aye, think of home when your angry passions rise; think of the sacred pledges you have left behind you; think of peace, think of the influence you can exercise; think of their felicity; think of the disastrous consequences and dire dismay that the knell of disunion would impart in their throbbing hearts; think of that, and think of everything that is sacred at home. I regret exceedingly ever to allude to what I have done. But on this occasion I feel that if it even be regarded as boasting, I will say that when I have been charged with being a deserter from the interests of the South, and courting favor with the North, I pity the beguilement which has dictated the suggestion. \Vhat ! I forget the South? If I am of the South, can I not recol- lect the North? What is our country? It is a nation composed of parts, East and West, South and North. It is an entirety. There are no factions in lit. It is a unit, and I trust it will so remain. But I have been charged with being an alien-an alien- a "cleserte1·." Permit me-and I say it because it is history not embelished, it is truth-when I gave the first evidence of manhood it was in earnest devotion to the South. Sir, when a stripling, I enlisted a private soldier in the ranks of my countrymen; I took my life in one hand-in my right hand I grasped the weapons of war. We marched in quest of the Indian in his lurking place; we met the savage in his war path; we kindled our fires far in the land of our enemy; we sat by them until morning when the battle came; we met our enemies, they either fled or fell. There I offered the richest libation of my youth, the blood of my early manhood, to consecrate the soil to freedom and the Union. This was in the centre of the South. Now, war is no more heard on our borders, the mountains speak peace, and joy is in all our valleys. The warrior is careless, his arms lie idle; he can now point to them and speak to his sons of his valient deeds. In what I have done, if I have contributed my mite to human freedom, I will let history tell, and say to what extent I have done it; or, if I have failed in the offices of humanity, let it be visited upon me. ·with my gallant associates I have struck manacles from the limbs of a captive chieftain and restored him, with his vanquished comrades,
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