And yet, to him who knows the past, a dark shadow hangs over all
this beauty; and the air--even in clearest blaze of sunshine--is
full of ghosts. I do not speak of the shadow of negro slavery, nor
of the shadow which, though abolished, it has left behind, not to be
cleared off for generations to come. I speak of the shadow of war,
and the ghosts of gallant soldiers and sailors. Truly here


'The spirits of our fathers
Might start from every wave;
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave,'


and ask us: What have you done with these islands, which we won for
you with precious blood? What could we answer? We have misused
them, neglected them; till now, ashamed of the slavery of the past,
and too ignorant and helpless to govern them now slavery is gone, we
are half-minded to throw them away again, or to allow them to annex
themselves, in sheer weariness at our imbecility, to the Americans,
who, far too wise to throw them away in their turn, will accept them
gladly as an instalment of that great development of their empire,
when 'The stars and stripes shall float upon Cape Horn.'

But was it for this that these islands were taken and retaken, till
every gully held the skeleton of an Englishman? Was it for this
that these seas were reddened with blood year after year, till the
sharks learnt to gather to a sea-fight, as eagle, kite, and wolf
gathered of old to fights on land? Did all those gallant souls go