Speech to the Familial Unit by Anna Ludwig

Mr. Henry: No man thinks more highly than I do of the familial allegiance, as well as parental abilities, of the very worthy gentleman who is my father. But different men often see the same subject in different lights; and, therefore, I hope that it will not be thought disrespectful to you, if, entertaining as I do, opinions of a character very opposite to yours, I shall speak forth my sentiments freely and without reserve. This is no time for ceremony. The question before the father figure is one of awful moment to this family. For my own part I consider it as nothing less than a question of freedom or slavery; late curfew or early; and in proportion to the magnitude of the subject ought to be the freedom of the debate. It is only in this way that we can hope to arrive at truth, and fulfill the great responsibility which we hold to God and our parents. Should I keep back my opinions at such a time, through fear of giving offense, I should consider myself as guilty of treason toward my family, and of an act of disloyalty toward the majesty of my father, who I revere above all earthly kings.
Father, it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern their temporal salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of my spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, to know the worst and fight for my curfew.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of myself for the last ten years, to justify a curfew at such an early time. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation?
I ask father, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force me to submission? Can Mr. Henry assign any other possible motives for it? Have I any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies to enforce such an early curfew? No, sir, I have none. This early curfew is meant for me; it can be meant for no other. Father, I have done everything that could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. I have petitioned; I have remonstrated; I have supplicated; I have prostrated myself before you, and have implored your interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of an early curfew. In vain, after these things, may I indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If I wish to be free, I must fight!
You tell me, sir, that I am weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall I be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when I am totally disarmed? The battle, father, is not to the strong alone; it is to every child who is tormented by the necessity to be home before darkness falls, it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! This battle in inevitable—and let it come! I repeat it, father, let it come!
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Other children may cry peace, peace—but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from this household will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Other families are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that you wish, father? What would you have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of my chains, and the slavery of my early curfew? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!