014 441 400 7 ^ HoUingier pH 83 lSCURiuiF03-219 F 231 .S45 Copy 2 ^ D X) K Jtl S S HON. JOSEPH SEGAR, WAR, THE UNION, AND THE llESTOKATION OF PEACE, Delivered on the occasion of a Complimentary Serenade to him, at the Monumental Hotel, Richmond, on the night of June 22, 1865. [From tilt" lUclinioml ItepuLilic ] A large crowd in iho street liaving called Mr. Skgar out, he spoke as follows : Fellow-citizens — for, thank God, we are all I'ellow-citizens once more — God be praised ten thousand fimes^ — from pine-forest Maine to golden California, we are once again one people. Fellow-citizens, I say, what do you want with me, a poor vituperated Union man, here to night? This cruel v/ar, blessed be God, is at last at an end. The stream of brothers' blood which has been reddening our waters for more than four years has ceased to flow. 'Jlie genius of peace hovers once more over our land. Why should you now invade the slumbers in which I hoped to dream, under the auspices of a new peace, of the future glory of our country, and the restored happiness of our people? Do you want a speech from me? If so, you reckon without your host? I am not "on my foot " for a speech. Like the rebellion, I am used up ; I am fatigued, wearied down, in helping my friends of that small, but compact and patriotic body, the (ieneral Assembly of Virginia, in the good work of reconstruction; and I am in such joy at the idea that that small, but gallant embodiment of loy- alty has laid deep and broad the foundations of reconstruction and re- union, that I am almost beside myself. Besides, what am I to talk to you about? [A voice — We came here to compliment you for your uncompro- .>■", mising devotion to the Union.] Oil ! well, if that's all, I can make this speech as " short as pie-crust," as the saying is. I deserve no credit for standing by the Stars and Stripes in the great conflict. The road that pointed to Union was to my poor eyes as plain as the road to the parish church, and the more I looked at it, the more lustrous, and yet more lus- trous, it seemed. It was so lighted up, so radiant, that I could not, for tlie life of me, help following it. There was another road pointed out to me by my fellow-citizens of Virginia, which was boggy and craggy, beset with cavernous precipices, that bedizzened the head as you approached their brink — a road bestrewed with ruin and sprinkled with blood at every step, along which the genius of murder, and of want, and of starvation, and of ruin, met you at every move. It was the Secession, Disunion road. I could not travel it, fellow-citizens. It was too hard a road for me, " Jordan (they say) is a hard road to travel," but this Secession road was a far harder road to travel than the road to Jordan. And so, having two roads before me, I chose the Union road. My friends in old Virginia told me it was the wrong road, and that when I got to the end of it I would find myself " in a bad box," perhaps with a halter around my neck. But I said no; you are travelling the wrong road. It will lead you to death and ruin. It will lead you to seas of blood ; it will conduct you to the graves of your fathers, your sons, and your brothers. It will lead the heart-stricken mother in agony to the half-covered grave of her, perhaps, only son. And I tell you, if you follow it through, your property will be all gone, and you will not have a "nigger" left, and you will, beside, get, in the end, perhaps, one of the biggest thrashings that ever a people had, and will be so dispirited and broken down when you get to the end of it, that you won't have spirit to call your lives your own. And so it was I took the Union road. And I had no^misgiving, because, when I came to the fork of the road, I beheld a huge sign-board, marked with big letters of living light, directing me which way to go, on which were writ- ten these words ; " You, Joseph Segar, one of my sons and citizens, must obey the Constitution and Laws of the United States, anything in my constitution and my laws to the contrary notwithstanding." So that while I have been villified beyond degree by my fellow-citizens of my own dear, native land for not going with them into Secession, I have the clear authority, the peremptory order, of my mother, Virginia, for what I did. She gave me the word of command, and if I did not wheel right, it was her fault — not mine. And in what I did I have nothing to regret or take back. God forbid ! On the contrary, let me now here declare, to my calumniators and all the world, that I would not take in exchano-e for the honor and glory of my position in this great struggle for the Union, all the gold that ever glittered in the mines of California, or that shall be gathered from them to the end of time. i 3 And now, fellow-citizens, as you command mc to speak, allow me to put in a word " on my own liook." As I have had the misfortune to have heen much condemned I'.n- s(>parating from my State in this matter of Se- cession, I propose to propound to those who have passed hard sentence upon me a few interrogatories, not in a spirit of malignity, for I have no unkind feeling for a single one of my fellow-citizens of my State. If they will only admit that I saw a little farther into the millstone than they did, I am satisfied, and forgive them. But the answers to the questions I pro- pose will not only vindicate all of us who stood by the Stars and Stripes, but may teach us a moral that will redound to our lasting good. First. Why did we go into Secession? I have never heard a sensible reason for it. I do not know yet M'hy the South went into Secession. When in the Legislature in 1861, I challenged all the leading Secession- ists in that body to send up to the library and bring down the statute l)ooks and show the United States law that invaded a Southern right. No