of these qualities often has the contrary effect. Relying on popular sympathy, the weak are tempted to impose upon the strong, and undoubtedly, as between the two, an impartial verdict would be that they are the lesser sufferers from injustice. Under-dogism, as a motive of action, is liable to grave abuses.

We take the ground, in this Mexican War case, that the Government acted for the good of civilization, and that the real question of ethics involved is whether it clearly understood the importance of its action at the time, and took the step on this higher ground, rather than from mere lust of territory. We believe that historic evidence supports absolutely the first hypothesis. The greatness and value of the results to flow from this course were as clear to our people then as they are now after the lapse of three score years and ten. They foresaw with unerring prescience what ought to be and what they believed must be. Geographical relations, the progress of settlement, the irresistible trend of events, all pointed to one conclusion. Says Niles' Register for December, 1845: 'No man can shut his eyes to the results of the current of emigration, now but commencing, but which will be as impetuous and overwhelming as has been the wave of emigration for the last century from east to west, and which no human power could have arrested, and which it would be but folly now to attempt to arrest. The Mexican government cannot fail to appreciate this progress, and it would be unwise not to avail itself of a price now for what in a very short time will inevitably pass from her control, whether she will or no.'

The distinguished German-American historian Von Holst, though pronounced in his condemnation of the policy of President Polk, nevertheless admits in full force the doctrine of man

ifest destiny as applied to this case. 'It was not only natural,' he says, 'but it was an historical necessity, that, with the growing consciousness and the progressive activity of its creative powers, it [the United States] should set itself broader and higher tasks.' And again he says approvingly, "The majority of the American people thought it right that, after all other methods had proved unavailing, the President should seek to obtain by force what the manifest destiny of the Union imperatively required.'

The statesmen of that day understood the situation thoroughly. President Polk understood it, and the question was how the great purpose could be accomplished. Delay, postponement, might defer, but could not permanently avoid, the issue. It was bound to come, and with increased embitterment the longer it was put off. The true interests of humanity required that it be settled then and there; and it is everlastingly to the credit of the President that he did not shrink before the mighty responsibility, though he knew full well that, among his contemporaries and down through posterity, there would always be those who would impugn his motives and seek to becloud with obloquy the greatness of his achievement.

And in all our national history no other event has been more quickly and more completely justified in its results. When we recall that two weeks before the treaty of peace was signed, gold was discovered in California (though of course the event was not known in the East until months afterward); and when we consider the possibility, nay the certainty, of international complications if this event, with its prodigious results, had transpired while the territory was still under the nominal sovereignty of Mexico; and when we further consider the narrow

margin by which we escaped the formation of an independent neighboring state founded on a social system repugnant to our civilization, surely it seems as if the hand of Providence must have been in the work.

Aside from the ethical aspect of the case, some may doubt the wisdom of so extreme a measure as war to accomplish the desired end. So far as the United States was concerned, the sacrifice, except in the loss of life, was justified a thousand times over. The benefits which have resulted transcend all estimate. As to loss of life, there is no criterion to judge by, and there can never be. Is a given result worth the sacrifice of one life, two, or a hundred? Who would dare say? Before the Civil War, who would have ventured to assert that emancipation and the preservation of the Union were worth a million lives? The answer to such questions must always be evaded. It can never be assumed that a certain number of lives are to be sacrificed, or are a proper price to pay for any end. A purpose has to be accomplished — it may be the building of a tunnel, the development of a great mine, the digging of a Panama Canal, the making of war. It is almost certain that loss of life will ensue, but the purpose cannot be balked on that account, and the contingency is never capable of being reduced to definite calculation. The possibility and the danger simply operate to impose greater caution in embarking upon perilous enterprises, and particularly to make governments consider well the momentous step of war before it is definitely resolved upon.

At this point we may observe that, in situations like the one just discussed and the one next to be considered, war - that is, coercion, whether it comes to armed conflict or not - finds its supreme justification. When intrigue enthrones itself in government counsels,

exalting self-interest above the public interest; when narrow-mindedness, slavishness to precedent, mediocrity of vision, enmesh the wheels of progress until they cannot turn; when pseudostatesmanship in whatever guise ties up affairs of state in a hopeless Gordian knot, it may be the glittering steel of war that alone can cleave the knot, set free imprisoned energies, and let man's work proceed. For the deadly blight of obstructionism, be it wanton or ignorant, there is no remedy so effective as that which the Prince of Peace applied to the fruitless fig tree: 'Behold, these years I come seeking fruit on this tree, and find none; cut it down; why cumbereth it the ground?'

II. PANAMA

Consider now the case of Panama. Doubtless it occurred to Balboa, four hundred years ago, when he realized how narrow and how low, comparatively, was the strip of land which separates the two oceans in that vicinity, that sooner or later an artificial waterway between them would be provided. From that day to this a canal has been the manifest destiny of the Isthmus. Gradually, from the dreams of enthusiasts, the schemes of diplomacy, the efforts of private individuals, the expenditure of undetermined millions, and the loss of thousands of lives, another aspect of the destiny of the Isthmus became manifest: namely, that private effort was unequal to the task; that government alone could accomplish it. The restrictions of unwritten international law precluded European nations from the undertaking, and inadequacy of resources precluded all American nations but one. Thus, within the past quarter of a century, it has become recognized throughout the civilized world that the great task of piercing the Isthmus with a canal must be

performed by the United States. Manifest destiny lay clearly in that direction. The United States accepted the obligation; diplomacy, long and laborious, cleared the way; investigation, infinite in detail, determined the best route and the best type of canal; negotiations, complicated and involved, settled the financial considerations for work already done and for rights and privileges which had to be extinguished or acquired.

It was upon the very threshold of inauguration of this grand enterprise on behalf of the whole world that a minor state, acting within the letter of technical right, planted herself directly across its pathway. It is not intended to enter here into a consideration of the merits of Colombia's present case against the United States, for that question is now before the American Senate and will presumably be thoroughly sifted until an equitable decision is reached. It will be assumed, for the purpose of this discussion, that the facts upon which our government acted were substantially what it then believed them to be, as set forth in its various official pronouncements; and upon this assumption, the ethical aspect of this case will be considered.

In the first place, in whom resided the paramount right pertaining to this proposed waterway? The answer must be: in the world at large. Such a waterway, once built, would be used by every maritime state on the globe, and the commerce of the whole world would be affected by it. The interests of Colombia, though substantial and important, were the merest bagatelle in comparison. The right to establish a canal across the Isthmus was clearly a worldright, with which no state, by virtue of technical sovereignty of the soil, had any moral right to interfere. It is doubtful if the nations would have permitted Colombia herself to build this

canal if she had otherwise been able and willing without explicit understanding beforehand as to the adequacy of the work and the regulations governing its future use. The accidents of fortune had placed the site of the canal route under the sovereignty of Colombia.1 Technically she could prevent the construction of such a work altogether. But would the world have permitted the exercise of any such right? Assuredly not. Probably no one will deny the duty of a resort to coercion under that supposition. It would be necessary that might make right prevail the real, as against a technical, right. But if this obligation is admitted under the extreme hypothesis assumed, can it be denied in the case of any lesser act of obstruction which should be in itself unreasonable, unjust, or onerous, or fraught with unnecessary delay? Again, assuredly not.

What was Colombia's moral duty in this matter, as distinguished from her technical right? Every consideration of justice and fairness should have prompted her to facilitate the work to the utmost of her ability. She was unable to do it herself, yet it was pregnant of great advantage to her. The mere presence of such a gigantic work upon her soil would of itself be an inestimable asset. The concentration of shipping in her waters would react advantageously upon her commercial development. Her two five-hundred-mile stretches of coast-line, east and west, separated by the whole circumference of South America, would be brought into immediate juxtaposition. Colombia would be a great beneficiary of this work, and it was clearly her duty to aid in its accomplishment. She had no right to consider her consent as such aid, for she had no moral right to with

1 It is not necessary to the purpose of this paper to discuss other possible routes, like that of Nicaragua, for instance. THE AUTHOR.

hold such consent. The very least that she could do would have been to grant a free right of way, with such control as would be necessary to the nation building the canal. From any possible standpoint of equity and justice, the cash contribution, if there were to be any, should have been from Colombia to the state which was going to the prodigious expense of building the canal. Instead of this, Colombia demanded, and (in the interests of harmony, no doubt) was granted, a cash contribution by that state. Its sufficiency need not be discussed, for according to any equitable consideration there should have been no payment at all. The HayHerran Treaty erred, if at all in this matter, in excess of generosity to Colombia.

Although the treaty was negotiated with the apparent approval of the Colombian government, and necessarily with its full knowledge of the essential features, it was unanimously rejected when it came to ratification by the Colombian Senate. This occurred about ten months after the treaty was signed, at which time the Colombian Congress adjourned, not to meet again for a year, and the matter was hung up at least for that period with every prospect of interminable delay afterward. The ostensible reason assigned was refuted by the document itself. The real reason, as believed by the American government at the time, and as firmly believed still by those instrumental in the negotiations, was a determination to extort a larger payment. Our government regarded Colombia's attitude as no better than that of an attempted hold-up to which no nation could in honor submit.

An actual situation had now arisen in which a major right was in direct conflict with a minor and technical right. Colombia was interposing unjust, unreasonable, and, from our point of view,

dishonorable obstacles, with every prospect of long and vexatious delay, international complications, and possible complete failure of the enterprise. A vast expenditure had already been made by the United States; with infinite study a course of action had been determined determined upon; the government was ready to proceed. What, then, was its duty in the obvious impasse that had arisen? There is no right of eminent domain among nations. The United States had made every reasonable concession to the holder of technical sovereignty, but without avail. It is submitted that in this situation duty and honor required the United States summarily to brush Colombia aside and proceed with the work assigned to it.

This, as we understand it, was the view of the administration at the time, and it was about to recommend drastic action against Colombia direct, when events developed which made such measures unnecessary. The Province of Panama, exasperated by the policy of the mother country, revolted and declared its independence. The United States, by virtue of treaty rights, forbade the transport of troops across the Isthmus and any armed conflict along the line of the Isthmian railway. This effectually prevented the Colombian government from suppressing the rebellion, even if it had otherwise been able to do so; the Panama Republic was promptly recognized by the United States and the leading nations of the world; a canal treaty was entered into with the new state; the construction of the Canal was at once begun and was carried to triumphant completion.

This decisive result was, of course, due to coercion by the United States upon Colombia no less so, though

less directly, than if war had been declared upon that state. It is a fact not to be denied or glossed over, but to be openly commended. Then and there

the vexed question was settled forever, and the world is to-day-to-day, not in the indefinite future-reaping the benefit of the completed work. Yet amid the chorus of universal acclaim for this greatest engineering feat of all time, the voice of criticism-nay, even of calumny - is heard for those who were its pioneers. But what matters it? The work itself is a sufficient answer, and the ships which are passing to and fro are a silent and everlasting vindication.

III. THE IMPERIAL VALLEY

We have considered two historic examples faits accomplis, so to speak. It is not generally realized that there exists on the American border to-day a similar situation, which, though less important in the area of territory and magnitude of interests involved, is even clearer in the principle at issue and in the line of action which must be taken. Five years after the close of the Mexican War, the United States negotiated with Mexico, on friendly and equitable terms, the acquisition of an additional strip of territory which exploration had shown to be necessary for a southern railroad route entirely north of the boundary. This cession embraced about 45,500 square miles, all of it east of the Colorado River. If physical conditions in contiguous territory had been known then as they are now, undoubtedly the purchase would have included an additional 2500 square miles lying mainly on the west side of the Colorado. Within this territory is what is now known as the Imperial Valley, of which nearly every one has vaguely heard, but of the remarkable nature of which very little is generally known.

In the not remote geologic past, the Gulf of California extended northwesterly some 200 miles farther inland than at present, far into what is now the

State of California. In the course of time the Colorado River, a large stream and a very heavy silt-carrier, built a dam by its deposits clear across the Gulf, cutting off entirely the upper portion, which was thus changed from a body of salt water to a fresh-water lake. Finally, as a result of the long exclusion of the river, which for centuries has flowed directly into the Gulf, evaporation emptied the lake and left an immense basin, most of it the former bed of the sea, and, of course, below sealevel. Along the eastern margin of the basin, fully 350 feet above its lowest point, flows the Colorado River. Below its level at the international boundary, lies this basin more than 2000 square miles in extent. It was once supposed to be incapable of reclamation, and was known as the Colorado desert. It has since been found to be of extraordinary fertility, physically well adapted to irrigation, capable of becoming a highly productive country and ultimately of supporting a population of perhaps a million.

Remarkable and wholly unprecedented is the relation of the Colorado River to the Imperial Valley. On the one hand it is the sole reclaiming agency anywhere available. Water for irrigation, domestic supply, and so forth, must come from this river or not be had at all. On the other hand, the river, flowing along the upper rim of the basin, rests there in unstable equilibrium, liable at any time to burst its bounds and go into the basin instead of the sea. Thus the river is playing simultaneously the antagonistic rôles of possible savior and possible destroyer of this wonderful valley. While dispensing manna where all would be death without it, it hangs like a sword of Damocles, ready at any moment to destroy all that it has built up.

Both aspects of this situation have been vividly impressed upon local and