“There would be no need to meet with the Queen if we were more circumspect. Perhaps it would not be so wise as to fire all of our batteries at once at the Yankees? There is a case to be made that we first go through the correct channels. Begin with a protest, then a reply. Then if they don’t accede to our polite requests we forget all kindness and sweet reason. We stop asking them. We tell them what they must do.”
“Perhaps, perhaps,” Palmerston muttered. “I will take that under consideration when the cabinet convenes. It has become imperative that we have a cabinet meeting at once.”
The secretary knocked lightly, then came in.
“Admiral Milne, sir. He would like to know if he could see you.”
“Of course, show him in.”
Lord Palmerston stood and took the admiral’s hand when he entered. “I imagine that this is no courtesy call, Admiral?”
“Hardly, sir. May I sit?”
“Of course. The wound—?”
“Well healed, but I’m still not as strong as I should be.” He sat and came straight to the point. “I have been too long on the shore, gentlemen. This sudden development has forcefully reminded me of that fact.”
“The Trent?” Russell said.
“The Trent indeed! A ship flying British colors—stopped at sea by an alien warship . . . words do fail me.”
“Not I sir, not I!” Palmerston’s anger surged again. “I see this action through your eyes and understand your passion. You have fought honorably for your country, have been wounded in her service in China. You are an Admiral of the Fleet in the most powerful navy the world has ever seen. And this matter, I know how you must feel . . .”
Milne had found his words now, shook with anger as they tumbled out. “Humiliation, Your Lordship. Humiliation and rage. Those raggle-taggle colonists must be taught a lesson. They cannot fire on a British ship, a Royal Mail packet by God, and not face the consequences of this despicable act.”
“What do you think the consequences should be?” Palmerston asked.
“That is not for me to say. It is for you gentlemen to decide the proper course to take in these matters. But I want you to know that every manjack in the Royal Navy is behind you, every foot of the way.”
“You feel they share your outrage?”
“Not feel—know! From the lowest matelot on the gun deck to the highest rank in the admiralty there will be disgust and anger. And the keen desire to follow where you lead.”
Palmerston nodded slowly. “Thank you, Admiral for your frankness. You have given new fiber to our determination. The Cabinet will meet at once. Be assured that action will be taken this very day. And I am sure that your return to active service will be appreciated and your offer accepted.”
“There is an officer from the Trent here, sir,” the secretary said as soon as the admiral had been ushered out. “He is seeking instruction as to the dispersal of certain documents he is holding.”
“What documents?”
“It seems that he took under his care all of the papers and documents that Messrs Mason and Slidell wished to conceal from the American government. They were safely concealed and now he wishes instruction as to their disposal.”
“Capital! Have them in and we shall see just why the Yankees were in such a hurry to nobble these two men.”
As the San Jacinto steamed north toward New York City the weather deteriorated. Captain Wilkes stood on the weather deck, rain lashing against his oilskins. The sea was getting up and there was snow now mixed in with the rain. He turned as Lieutenant Fairfax came out on deck.
“Engineer reports that we are taking in some water, sir. Seams working in this cross sea.”
“Pumps holding?”
“Very well, Captain. But he wants to reduce the revolutions to ease the strain on the hull. This ship has seen a lot of service.”
“Indeed she has. All right, 80 revolutions—but no less than that. Our orders are quite explicit.”
At the slower speed the leaking abated so much that the pumping could be stopped for a few minutes so that the water level could be sounded in the well. There proved to have been a great improvement. Nevertheless the wind was getting up and the San Jacinto rolled heavily. It was not a comfortable voyage. By the time she arrived in New York visibility was almost zero in the blinding snowstorm, now mixed with lashing hail. Her arrival had been expected and she was met by a tugboat in the Narrows.
His face buried in the collar of his greatcoat, Captain Wilkes watched from the bridge. Lines were thrown and the tug was secured to their side. Two uniformed men climbed the rope ladder with some difficulty, then waited on deck as their leather bags were passed up to them. Lieutenant Fairfax reported to the bridge.
“They are Federal marshals, Captain. With orders to report to you.”
“Good. See that they are taken to my cabin. How are our prisoners?”
“Protesting mightily about the weather and the conditions of their quarters.”
“That is of no importance. Are they secure under lock and key?”
“They are, sir. With guards outside their door right around the clock.”
“See that it remains that way.”
The captain went to his cabin where he awaited the Federal marshals. They stamped in, big, burly men; snow melted on their heavy coats.
“You have new orders for me?”
The marshal in charge passed over the leather wallet. Wilkes took out the document and scanned it briefly. “You know what these orders are?”
“We do, Captain. We are to remain aboard and mount a close guard over your prisoners. Then this ship is to proceed directly to Fort Warren in Boston harbor. The only concern of the Navy Department was that you might not have enough coal.”
“My bunkers are nearly full. We sail at once.”
Once out of the shelter of the harbor the full strength of the storm hit them. Waves crashed over the decks and water foamed in the scuppers. The San Jacinto rolled and pitched so badly that, when the waves passed under her stern, the screw lifted briefly out of the water. It was a hard night even for the veteran sailors; disaster for the landsmen. The four prisoners were devastatingly ill with seasickness, as were the Federal marshals. Slidell groaned aloud, praying that their vessel either arrive in safe harbor—or sink. Anything to end the torment.
It was not until the afternoon of the second day that the storm-battered San Jacinto sailed into the smoother waters of Boston harbor and tied up at the wharf on Fort Warren. The exhausted prisoners were led away by an armed squad of soldiers, the Federal marshals stumbling in their wake. Lieutenant Fairfax supervised the unloading of their luggage and their supplies from the Trent. Fort Warren was a secure prison, the fort’s high stone walls running right around the tiny island. When Fairfax returned to the ship he brought the day’s newspapers to the captain’s cabin.
“The entire country is jubilant, Sir. They hail you as the savior of the nation.”
Wilkes did not reveal the pleasure he felt at this news. He had only done his duty as he saw it—though the naval authorities might not have seen it in quite the same way. But nothing succeeds like success. He almost smiled at the good news. His superior officers would find it hard, in the light of public jubilation, to find a way for him to be reproved for his actions. He read the headlines with grim satisfaction.
“Apparently, Lieutenant Fairfax, there is no love lost in this country for our prisoners. Look here. Mason is called a knave, a coward and a bully . . . dear, dear. And even more—a pompous snob as well as being a conceited and shallow traitor.”
Fairfax was also reading the papers. “Slidell is treated the same way here in The Globe. They see him as cold, clever, selfish, rapacious and corrupt.”
“And we thought we were just seizing a brace of traitorous politicians. I wonder if the English newspapers will see this matter in the same light?”
“I very much doubt that, Captain.”
Lord Palmerston read the London newspapers as he wa
ited for his Cabinet to assemble, nodding with grim agreement at the bombast and rage.
“I concur with every word, gentlemen, every word,” he said, waving a handful of the journals across the Cabinet table. “The country is with us, the public outraged. We must act with deliberate speed lest these rebellious colonials believe their cowardly act will go unremarked. Now—have you all had a chance to look at the documents from the Trent?”
“I have gone through them quite carefully,” William Gladstone said. “Except, of course, for the personal communications for the Queen and the French Emperor.”
Palmerston nodded. “These will be sent on.”
“As for the instructions to the dockyards and other documents, they are full proof of the legitimacy of these ambassadors. I know not how the French will respond—but I for one am amazed at the Yankee gall in this seaborne capture.”
“I share your feelings,” Palmerston said.
“Then your proposed action, my lord?” Russell asked.
“After due consideration, and in the light of public support, I feel that something drastic must be done, firm action taken. I have a draft of the dispatch here before me,” Palmerston answered, tapping the letter on the desk in front of him. “Originally I thought that a protest through normal diplomatic channels would suffice, which is why I have called you together. But I have since come to believe that this universal outpouring of rage cannot be ignored. We must speak for the country—and speak with most righteous indignation. I have prepared a dispatch for the American government, and have couched it in the strongest terms. I have given instructions that the mail steamer is to be held in Southampton awaiting the arrival of this communication. The Queen will see it today and will undoubtedly agree with every word. When she approves—then off it will go.”
“Sir?”
“Yes Mr. Gladstone,” Palmerston responded, smiling. William Gladstone, his Chancellor of the Exchequer, was a rock of support in trying times.
“It is my pleasure to inform you that my wife and I are dining with the Queen and Prince Albert this evening. Perhaps I might then present her with the dispatch and impress upon her the unanimity of her government in this matter.”
“Splendid!” Palmerston was relieved, almost wanted to pat Gladstone on the back, pleased that he could avoid a meeting with the Queen. “We are all in your debt for this undertaking. The memorandum is yours.”
Though Gladstone left the cabinet meeting in the best of humors, eager to be of some aid in his party and his country’s service, he lost a good deal of his enthusiasm when he took the time to read the document he had so readily volunteered to endorse. Later that evening, as their carriage rattled across the cobblestones and through the entrance to Buckingham Palace, his wife noted with some concern the dour set to his features.
“Is there something wrong, William? I have not seen you look so grim since we were in that dreadful Kingdom of Naples.”
“I must apologize. I am most sorry to bring my troubles with me.” He took and pressed her gloved hand. “As in Napoli it is affairs of state that disturb me so. But we shall not let it spoil this evening. I know how much you have been looking forward to this dinner with Her Majesty.”
“As indeed I have.” Her voice broke a bit as she spoke. Hesitantly she asked, “The Queen has, I sincerely hope, been very well of late? There has been talk, not that I believe it of course, about her, well . . . state of mind. After all, she is the granddaughter of Mad King George.”
“You must not concern yourself my dear with rumors worded about by idle riff-raff. She is, after all, the Queen.”
They were shown into the sitting room, where they bowed and curtsied to Queen Victoria.
“Albert will be with us momentarily, Mr. Gladstone. He is resting now. I am afraid that the dear man has been terribly fagged for some time.”
“I am devastated to hear that, ma’am. But I am sure that he is getting the best of care.”
“Of course! Sir James Clarke sees him daily. Today he prescribed ether and Hoffman’s drops. But do help yourself. There is sherry on the sideboard if you wish.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Indeed he did wish for he was not at ease; he patted his chest where the document resided in the inner pocket. He was just pouring the sherry when Prince Albert came in.
“Mr. Gladstone, I wish a very good evening to you.”
“And to you, sir. Health and happiness.”
Happiness the Prince certainly had, with his adoring wife and ample family. But he could certainly use every wish for good health—since he looked decidedly ill. The years had not been kind to him. The elegant and graceful youth was now paunchy, balding, prematurely middle-aged. His skin was pale and damp, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He held shakily to the arms of the chair as he dropped into it. The Queen looked at him worriedly but he waved away her concern.
“It is the lung congestion you know, it comes and goes. It will be much better after a good dinner. Please, do not be concerned.”
With this reassurance the Queen turned to other matters. “Mr. Gladstone, my secretary informs me that there are affairs of state that you wish to address to us.”
“A dispatch that the Prime Minister intends to send to the Americans, ma’am, about the Trent Affair. With your approval, of course. But I am sure that it can wait until after we dine.”
“Perhaps. Nevertheless we shall see it now. I am most disturbed about this matter—more than disturbed, horrified I should say. We do not take lightly the fact that a British ship has not only been stopped, but boarded at sea.”
She pointed to the Prince Consort when Gladstone drew out the letter. “Albert will read it. I would not even consider writing a letter without consulting him. He is of the greatest support to me in this and many other matters.”
Lord Russell bowed in agreement, well aware of the common knowledge that the Queen would not even dress without consulting him. He passed the envelope to Prince Albert.
The Prince unfolded the sheet of paper and turned it to face the light, then read aloud.
“ ‘As regards the matter of the forced removal of four passengers from a British vessel on the high seas. Her Majesty’s government are unwilling to imagine that the United States government will not of their own accord be anxious to afford ample reparation for this act of folly. The Queen’s ministers expect the following. One. The liberation of all four captured gentlemen and delivery to the Lord Lyons, the British ambassador in Washington. Two. An apology for the insult offered to the British flag. Three . . .’ ”
He coughed deeply. “Excuse me. This is very strong language and there is more like this I am afraid. Most strongly worded.”
“As it should be,” the Queen said with marked indignation. “I do not admire the Americans—and I despise that Mr. Seward who has made so many untruthful remarks about this country. But, still, if you feel there are changes needed, Liebchen.”
Albert’s drawn face was drawn into a quick smile at the German term of endearment. He believed that his wife was Vortrefflichste, a matchless woman, mother, queen. Moody perhaps, one day screaming at him, the next most affectionate. And he felt the need to advise her at all times. Only his ill health had prevented him from being of greater aid to her in her unceasing labors as ruling monarch. Now this. Palmerston had made his demands in a most bellicose and threatening manner. Any head of state would be greatly offended by the manner as well as the message.
“Not so much changes,” he said, “for the Prime Minister is quite correct in his demands. An international crime has been committed, there is no doubt about that. But perhaps the captain of the American ship is to blame for the incident. We must determine exactly what has happened, and why, before threats are made. This matter must not be allowed to get out of hand. Therefore I believe that perhaps some alterations are in order. Not so much in the contents but in the tone. A sovereign country cannot be ordered about like a willful child.” He climbed to his feet shakily. “I think per
haps I should write a bit on it now. At the present I am not hungry. I will eat later if you will excuse me.”
“Are you not well?” the Queen asked, half-rising from her chair.
“A slight malaise, nothing, please do not let me the dinner disturb.”
Prince Albert climbed shakily to his feet, trying to smile. He started forward—then appeared to stumble. Bending at the knees, collapsing. Striking his head sharply on the floor.
“Albert!” the Queen cried.
Gladstone was instantly at his side, turning the Prince, touching the pale skin.
“He is unconscious, ma’am, but breathing quite steadily. Perhaps the physician . . .”
The Queen needed no encouragement in ordering assistance to her dear Albert. Servants appeared in great numbers, rushed to find a rug, covered his legs, put a pillow beneath his head, searched for a stretcher, sent a footman running for Sir James. The Queen wrung her hands and was beyond speech now. Gladstone looked down at the unconscious Albert and noticed for the first time that the dispatch was still clutched in his tightened fist.
“If I may, ma’am,” he whispered, as he knelt and gently pulled it free. He hesitated. This was neither the time nor the place. Nevertheless he felt that he was forced to mention it.
“This dispatch, tomorrow perhaps?”
“No! Take it away. Look what it has contrived to do! The wretched thing has done this to my dear Albert. It disturbed him, you saw that. In his delicate state it was just too much for him. It is the Americans again, this is all their fault. Poor man, he was so concerned . . . take it from my sight. Do what you will with it. At last—the doctor!”
There was no further mention of dinner. The Queen exited with the Prince. When the door had closed behind her Gladstone called for their coats and asked for his carriage to be brought around.
It had not been a good evening.
The dispatch would go out just as it had been written.
The die had been cast.
ARMS OF WAR
When the presidential train had stopped to fill the engine’s water tanks in Jersey City, the latest messages and reports were put aboard: the President’s personal secretary brought them to him. Abraham Lincoln, away from the constant press and demands of the White House, stared out at the frosty winter beauty of the Hudson River. A radiant coal stove kept the cold at bay. Simon Cameron, the Secretary of War, dozed in the seat opposite. This was a peaceful refuge from the White House where favor seekers besieged him every moment of the day. He was relaxed and at ease for the first time in weeks. Even the sight of the thick bundle of paper did not disturb him.
Stars & Stripes Forever Page 3
