im of
each. But deep in the heart of the noble man it lies forever legible,
that as an Invisible Just God made him, so will and must God's Justice
and this only, were it never so invisible, ultimately prosper in all
controversies and enterprises and battles whatsoever. What an
Influence; ever-present,--like a Soul in the rudest Caliban of a body;
like a ray of Heaven, and illuminative creative _Fiat-Lux_, in the
wastest terrestrial Chaos! Blessed divine Influence, traceable even in
the horror of Battlefields and garments rolled in blood: how it
ennobles even the Battlefield; and, in place of a Chactaw Massacre,
makes it a Field of Honour! A Battlefield too is great. Considered
well, it is a kind of Quintessence of Labour; Labour distilled into
its utmost concentration; the significance of years of it compressed
into an hour. Here too thou shalt be strong, and not in muscle only,
if thou wouldst prevail. Here too thou shalt be strong of heart, noble
of soul; thou shalt dread no pain or death, thou shalt not love ease
or life; in rage, thou shalt remember mercy, justice;--thou shalt be a
Knight and not a Chactaw, if thou wouldst prevail! It is the rule of
all battles, against hallucinating fellow Men, against unkempt Cotton,
or whatsoever battles they may be, which a man in this world has to
fight.

Howel Davies dyes the West-Indian Seas with blood, piles his decks
with plunder; approves himself the expertest Seaman, the daringest
Seafighter: but he gains no lasting victory, lasting victory is not
possible for him. Not, had he fleets larger than the combined British
Navy all united with him in bucaniering. He, once for all, cannot
prosper in his duel. He strikes down his man: yes; but his man, or his
man's representative, has no notion to lie struck down; neither,
though slain ten times, will he keep so lying;--nor has the Universe
any notion to keep him so lying! On the contrary, the Universe and he
have, at all moments, all manner of motives to start up again, and
desperately fight again. Your Napoleon is flung out, at last, to St.
Helena; the latter end of him sternly compensating the beginning. The
Bucanier strikes down a man, a hundred or a million men: but what
profits it? He has one enemy never to be struck down; nay two enemies:
Mankind and the Maker of Men. On the great scale or on the small, in
fighting of men or fighting of difficulties, I will not embark my
venture with Howel Davies: it is not the Bucanier, i