A World on Fire: Britain's Crucial Role in the American Civil War

by Amanda Foreman

  Lord Russell described his conversation with Adams at a hastily called cabinet meeting on Friday, November 29. Every member was present, except for the Duke of Argyll, who was on holiday in France. Palmerston was bristling with pugnacious indignation. He had spent the past few days calculating ship distances and totting up troop numbers. Whether Captain Wilkes’s act had been premeditated or not, Palmerston had decided it was time “to read a lesson to the United States which will not soon be forgotten.”63

  * * *

  7.1 Lyons suspected that Seward and Mercier had only a vague idea of what the other was saying, and although he faithfully reported all that Mercier told him, Lyons warned Lord Russell not to take his words too literally. “Your Lordship will not fail to recollect that the conversation, which was carried on in English, was repeated to me by M. Mercier in French, and that it took place between a Frenchman not very familiar with English, and an American having little or no knowledge of French.”18

  7.2 Cambridge House, wrote Sir George Trevelyan memorably, was “Past the wall which screens the mansion, hallowed by a mighty shade, / Where the cards were cut and shuffled when the game of State was played.”

  EIGHT

  The Lion Roars Back

  Captain Wilkes seizes the Trent—Northern glee—Britain prepares for war—Prince Albert’s intervention—Waiting for an answer—Seward’s dilemma—Lord Lyons takes a risk—Peace and goodwill on Christmas Day

  “A cold, raw day,” William Howard Russell noted in his diary on November 16, 1861. “As I was writing,” he continued, “a small friend of mine, who appears like a stormy petrel in moments of great storm, fluttered into my room, and having chirped out something about a ‘jolly row,’—‘Seizure of Mason and Slidell,’—‘British flag insulted,’ and the like, vanished.” Russell hastily grabbed his coat and followed him outside, where he bumped into the French minister, Henri Mercier, coming from the direction of the British legation. “And then, indeed, I learned there was no doubt about the fact that [on November 8] Captain Charles Wilkes, of the U.S. steamer San Jacinto, had forcibly boarded the Trent, a British mail steamer, off the Bahamas, and had taken Messrs. Mason, Slidell, [and their secretaries] Eustis, and Macfarland from on board by armed force, in defiance of the protests of the captain and naval officer in charge of the mails.”1

  The American press was jubilant over the capture. “Rightly or wrongly, the American people at large look upon it as a direct insult to the British flag,” wrote Lord Lyons.2 But the opportunity to humiliate England was not the only reason behind the public’s excitement. Mason and Slidell had been needling the North from the Senate floor for many years, and their banishment to Fort Warren in Boston Harbor was deemed a fitting punishment.8.1 The New York Times’ first editorial on the affair called for Wilkes to be honored with a medal or a public holiday. The Philadelphia Sunday Transcript went further and committed the country to war, reminding its readers that American soldiers had routed “the best of British troops” in 1812 and would do so again. “In a word, while the British government has been playing the villain, we have been playing the fool,” the paper declared. “Let her now do something beyond driveling—let her fight. If she has a particle of pluck … if she is not as cowardly as she is treacherous—she will meet the American people on land and on the sea, as they long to meet her, once again, not only to lower the red banner of St. George … but to consolidate Canada with the union.”3

  Ill.11 Punch sends a British warning to the United States, December 1861.

  What was not clear to Russell, however, was whether Captain Wilkes had acted on his own or in accordance with secret U.S. government instructions. His visits to the State and Navy departments on November 18 were inconclusive, since the former was not prepared to comment, but the latter had obviously been taken by surprise.4 No one at the Navy Department had a good word to say in Wilkes’s defense. Although a renowned cartographer, he had the reputation of being a bully and a braggart.5 The command of the San Jacinto had been given to him with great reluctance; “he has a super-abundance of self-esteem and a deficiency of judgment,” warned an official in August. “He will give us trouble.”6 Since his appointment, Wilkes had been trawling the oceans in defiance of his actual orders on a personal hunting expedition for Confederate ships. It was sheer luck that he stumbled onto the Confederate commissioners, and it was pure Wilkes—his colleagues told William Howard Russell—to decide that a search and seizure of the four men on a neutral ship would be legal under international law.

  At the British legation, Russell encountered Lord Lyons politely fending off questions from a group of foreign ministers who had come ostensibly to offer their support, but really to ascertain England’s probable response. This, Lyons made clear, would have to come from London. He explained to Russell that his overriding concern was to prevent anything coming from himself or the legation that might help the warmongers. The staff had been given orders not to discuss the Trent with anyone, although Russell could see from the look on their faces that they thought war was inevitable.

  The following day, Russell prepared his letter to The Times. “I rarely sat down to write under a sense of greater responsibility,” he admitted in his diary. 7 Russell assumed that his report would be “the first account of the seizure of the Southern Commissioners which will reach England,” and the thought of how the public would react to the news filled him with foreboding. He was no longer just describing the attack on the Trent, but also the North’s exultation and the U.S. government’s silence, which he feared would be as provocative to the English as Wilkes’s original act. Without excusing the Lincoln administration, Russell tried to explain the pressures placed upon it by democracy: “There is a popular passion and vengeance to be gratified by the capturing and punishment of Mr. Mason and Mr. Slidell,” he wrote, “and I believe the Government will retain them at all risk because it dare not give them up.”8

  Russell was only partially correct about the administration. Public opinion naturally played a role in its deliberations, but from the start virtually all the members of the president’s cabinet were adamantly opposed to releasing the commissioners. Lincoln allegedly complained to a journalist on November 16 about the embarrassment Wilkes had caused the country. “I fear the traitors will prove to be white elephants,” he reportedly said. “We must stick to American principles concerning the rights of neutrals. We fought Great Britain for insisting, by theory and practice, on the right to do precisely what Captain Wilkes has done.”9 If that is true, Lincoln would have been the only member of his administration, apart from Montgomery Blair, the postmaster general, to accept that Wilkes had violated international law and the only member to realize the grave threat to America’s moral reputation if the government supported him. The United States had fought the War of 1812 in part to defend its broad interpretation of “neutral rights.” It had protected the slave trade, allowing it to flourish, and had expelled the British minister, John Crampton, in 1856, risking a third Anglo-American war, for his perceived violation of these rights. The United States would be inviting the censure and mockery of the entire world if the government suddenly repudiated a fundamental principle of American foreign policy because it was no longer expedient to maintain.

  Regardless of how Lincoln originally understood the issue, within twenty-four hours of hearing the news he had joined the celebrations. He wrote about the seizure with exclamation marks to Edward Everett, the former American minister in London. To General McClellan, who came to deliver a warning from the Prince de Joinville that England would demand an apology, Lincoln replied categorically that the commissioners were not going to be released. The cabinet, excepting Montgomery Blair, behaved shamefully. The worst offender was the attorney general, Edward Bates, who gave ill-judged and incorrect legal advice to his colleagues. “Some timid persons are alarmed, lest Great Britain should take offense at the violation of her Flag,” he wrote in his diary. “There is no danger on that score. The law of Nations is clear u
pon the point, and I have no doubt that, with a little time for examination, I could find it so settled by English authorities.”10

  General McClellan also called on Seward to give him Joinville’s warning, but the secretary of state did not want to hear bad news—especially from McClellan, whom he disliked. He resented having his expertise questioned and told the general that his information about England was based on ignorance. “I said I thought I was right,” recorded McClellan; “he again contradicted me & I told him that the future would prove the correctness of my story.” McClellan left, inwardly cursing that “so weak and cowardly a thing should now control our foreign relations.”11 Seward’s unfounded optimism that Britain would not dare make a protest thoroughly depressed Lord Lyons. “I am so worn out with the never ending labour of keeping things smooth,” Lyons wrote to Lord Russell on November 22. He had heard about Seward’s reaction and was beginning to wonder whether the policy of keeping quiet was “leading these people to believe that they may go all lengths with us with impunity.… I am sometimes half tempted to wish that the worst may have come already,” he confessed. “However I do not allow this feeling to influence my conduct and I have done nothing which can in the least interfere with any course which you may take concerning the affair of the ‘Trent.’ ”12

  There was apparently limited discussion of the Trent affair at the cabinet meeting on November 24. Lincoln agreed that they would wait to hear Britain’s response before the government publicly committed itself on the legality of the seizure. No one remarked on the South’s euphoric reaction to the capture or questioned why its press was so quick to agree that the British had been given a studied blow. President Jefferson Davis had laid particular stress on the insult in a speech to the Confederate Congress on November 18. “These gentlemen were as much under the jurisdiction of the British Government upon that ship and beneath its flag as if they had been on its soil,” he said. Wilkes’s act was no different from a kidnapping on Piccadilly.13

  After the cabinet meeting, Seward realized that it would be impossible to keep Charles Francis Adams in limbo for two or three more weeks. He composed a dispatch on November 27 saying as little as possible about the affair except to admit that Wilkes had acted without orders. The administration was waiting for Britain’s reaction, he informed Adams. That night, the apotheosis of Wilkes continued. The governor of Massachusetts spoke at a public banquet in his honor, praising him for giving “illustrious service” to the war and for humbling the “British lion” to boot. Gideon Welles ignored Lincoln’s injunction to wait and published a letter of congratulation to Wilkes, which, fortunately, mentioned that the captain had acted on his own initiative.

  When Congress reconvened on December 2, Lincoln did not specifically refer to Wilkes in his speech, but the House of Representatives passed a vote of thanks and awarded him a gold medal. In Boston, Anthony Trollope was forced to pronounce on the subject, though he felt there was more farce than force to the affair. “Who ever before heard of giving a man glory for achievements so little glorious?” he asked. Trollope was amused when people quoted obscure legal authorities at him in order to justify the Trent affair. “ ‘Wheaton is quite clear about it,’ one young girl said to me. It was the first I had ever heard of Wheaton, and so far was obliged to knock under,” he wrote. “All the world, ladies and lawyers, expressed the utmost confidence in the justice of the seizure.” Yet, Trollope added, “it was clear that all the world was in a state of the profoundest nervous anxiety on the subject.”14 As the countdown began for the arrival of newspapers from London, the press began to change its tone as editorials asked: What if the British lion roared back?

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  The “lion” had been roaring since November 27. On Palmerston’s orders, the secretary of state for the colonies, the Duke of Newcastle, advised the governor-general of Canada to prepare for war: “Such an insult to our flag can only be atoned by the restoration of the men who were seized,” he wrote, “and with Mr. Seward at the helm of the United States, and the mob and the Press manning the vessel, it is too probable that this atonement may be refused.” His opinion was shared in both Houses; peace, argued Lord Clarendon (who had been foreign secretary in the 1850s), was not “worth the price of national honour.”15

  Although the law officers were unanimous that the seizure was unlawful, at a meeting on November 29 the British cabinet was unable to agree on the proper measure of response to the Americans. If it were too strong, argued Gladstone, the Lincoln administration would be denied a graceful exit. Too weak, countered Palmerston, and it would send a false impression of Britain’s intentions. They resolved to leave the drafting of the letter to Lord Russell. He was to state the facts of the case and demand the restoration of the commissioners along with an apology for the outrage. Failure to do so within seven days of receiving the letter would mean the immediate departure of Lord Lyons to Canada and war between the two nations.

  When the cabinet reconvened the following day, nobody had a positive comment about Russell’s resulting draft, which was clumsy and overly obsessed with national honor. The three main principles at stake (the rights of neutral countries in time of war, the right to free movement on neutral ships, and the protection of diplomatic correspondence) were not made clear at all.16 But the more the cabinet tried to amend the letter, the more defensive Russell became, until finally they agreed that Lord Lyons should receive two letters. The first would outline the case; the second would contain the threat that the United States had seven days to comply with Britain’s demand. The temporary truce collapsed immediately, as they now had not just one but two letters over which to fight. Gladstone incensed Palmerston with his musings on whether the law was entirely on their side.8.2 17 Finally there came a point when further discussion was useless, and even though no one was satisfied, the drafts were sent to the Queen and Prince Albert for their approval.

  The prince lay ill with typhoid fever when the letters arrived at Windsor Castle on November 30. He had been kept informed of the cabinet’s discussions and had rightly feared that the official response would be pompous and aggressive. In the last of the prince’s many services to his adopted country, he roused himself from his bed and composed a memorandum (though he could hardly hold a pen in his hand) on what the letter ought to say. There should be “the expression of a hope,” he wrote,

  that the American captain did not act under instructions, or, if he did, that he misapprehended them—that the United States Government must be fully aware that the British Government could not allow its flag to be insulted, and the security of her mail communications to be placed in jeopardy; and Her Majesty’s Government are unwilling to believe that the United States Government intended wantonly to put an insult upon this country.

  Gone were the peremptory demands and in their place were merely polite statements of expectation.8.3 18

  Russell conceded that the changes were necessary, but even so he doubted that they would temper Seward’s reaction or produce an apology.19 He therefore composed a third letter to Lyons, describing how the demands should be presented. Russell wanted him to be tactful but unequivocal; the release of the prisoners would negate the need for atonement, but no words or species of apology would appease Britain’s anger if the prisoners were retained.20 With any luck, Seward would realize that retreat was preferable to war, but it would be up to Lyons to make the secretary of state understand that there could be no amateur dramatics, no clever little feints or attempts at bargaining. Only a straightforward answer would do.

  The postmaster general, Lord Stanley, was keeping his wife informed of the cabinet’s deliberations. “The accounts from America,” he wrote on December 2, had confirmed their fears; Northern public opinion could be summed up as “great exaltation at the insult to England, great satisfaction at the capture of Mason and Slidell and the deification of Capt. Wilkes.”21 The next day Captain Conway Seymour boarded the Boston-bound Europa with the cabinet’s letters.22 Lord Stanley chafed when he reali
zed how long it would be until they received a reply: “It cannot get to [Lord Lyons] in less than 12 days & another 12 days to return will be the earliest we can get any intelligence of its reception.” As soon as the messenger left, however, Russell began to suffer misgivings about the plan. “I cannot imagine their giving a plain yes or no to our demands,” he wrote. “I think they will try to hook in France, and if that is, as I hope, impossible, to get Russia to support them.”23 At the bottom of Russell’s anxiety was the sense that the Americans had misunderstood his actions and that he was being wrongly blamed for reasons he still could not understand. “Not a word had been spoken, not a deed done by him but what showed the friendliest feeling,” Lady Russell wrote loyally about her husband’s dealings with the North.24

  Palmerston thought that the United States would not even bother with negotiation. The “masses,” he categorically stated, will “make it impossible for Lincoln and Seward to grant our demands; and we must therefore look forward to war as the probable result.” George Cornewall Lewis, the secretary for war, complained that they were doing France’s dirty work, which was rather ungrateful of him considering that Napoleon III had promised his support. “It is quite certain that the French Govt wish for war between England and America,” wrote Lewis. “The blockade of the South would be raised, and they would get the cotton which they want.”25

  Late on December 3, Russell and Palmerston called another cabinet meeting. The Treasury had received an alarming report that a Federal agent had bought up the country’s entire saltpeter reserves—about 4.5 million pounds. Most of it was due to be shipped the following day. The cabinet agreed to an immediate export ban; lacking sufficient mines of their own, the Federals would be hard-pressed to manufacture gunpowder without this precious commodity.26 The Admiralty issued a worldwide alert to every station. Admiral Milne’s instructions to ready his squadron reached him in Bermuda, where he replied: “The ships’ companies are in a high state of excitement for war, they are certainly all for the South. I hear the Lower Decks to-day are decorated with the Confederate colours.”27