Portugueze entreated our assistance, we had proved
to them that we were not wanting in fellow-feeling.
Therefore might we be admitted to be judges between
them and their enemies—unexceptionable judges—more
competent even than a dispassionate posterity, which,
from the very want comparatively of interest and passion,
might be in its examination remiss and negligent,
and therefore in its decision erroneous. We, their
contemporaries, were drawn towards them as suffering
beings; but still their sufferings were not ours,
nor could be; and we seemed to stand at that due point
of distance from which right and wrong might be fairly
looked at and seen in their just proportions.
Every thing conspired to prepossess the Spaniards
and Portugueze in our favour, and to give the judgment
of the British Nation authority in their eyes.
Strange, then, would be their first sensations, when,
upon further trial, instead of a growing sympathy,
they met with demonstrations of a state of sentiment
and opinion abhorrent from their own. A shock
must have followed upon this discovery, a shock to
their confidence—not perhaps at first in
us, but in themselves: for, like all men under
the agitation of extreme passion, no doubt they had
before experienced occasional misgivings that they
were subject to error and distraction from afflictions
pressing too violently upon them. These flying
apprehensions would now take a fixed place; and that
moment would be most painful. If they continued
to respect our opinion, so far must they have mistrusted
themselves: fatal mistrust at such a crisis!
Their passion of just vengeance, their indignation,
their aspiring hopes, everything that elevated and
cheared, must have departed from them. But this
bad influence, the
excess of the outrage would
mitigate or prevent; and we may be assured that they
rather recoiled from Allies who had thus by their actions
discountenanced and condemned efforts, which the most
solemn testimony of conscience had avouched to them
were just;—that they recoiled from us with
that loathing and contempt which unexpected, determined,
and absolute hostility, upon points of dearest interest
will for ever create.
Again: independence and liberty were the blessings
for which the people of the Peninsula were contending—immediate
independence, which was not to be gained but by modes
of exertion from which liberty must ensue. Now,
liberty—healthy, matured, time-honoured
liberty—this is the growth and peculiar
boast of Britain; and Nature herself, by encircling
with the ocean the country which we inhabit, has proclaimed
that this mighty Nation is for ever to be her own
ruler, and that the land is set apart for the home
of immortal independence. Judging then from these
first fruits of British Friendship, what bewildering
and depressing and hollow thoughts must the Spaniards
and Portugueze have entertained concerning the real
value of these blessings, if the people who have possessed
them longest, and who ought to understand them best,
could send forth an army capable of enacting the oppression
and baseness of the Convention of Cintra; if the government
of that people could sanction this treaty; and if,
lastly, this distinguished and favoured people themselves
could suffer it to be held forth to the eyes of men
as expressing the sense of their hearts—as
an image of their understandings.