Davis nodded again, impatient for Benjamin to continue.
“Ah, here we are. The sixth planks reads as follows: ‘Resolved, that the continuing bloodshed and needless loss of life, as well as the unnecessary expenditure of vast amounts of public monies, must be brought to a halt at the earliest practicable moment. For this purpose, we demand an immediate cessation of hostilities and the opening of good faith negotiations with our Southern brethren with a view toward a termination of the present military conflict.’”
“Most interesting,” Davis said. The carriage rode over a particularly bumpy part of the street, and Davis heard the driver shout a low curse to his horses. He hoped that they would soon arrive at the Executive Office building.
“Indeed,” Benjamin agreed. “There is no mention of slavery at any point in the Democratic platform, which confirms for me that they still believe we will be willing to return to the Union if we receive guarantees on the slavery question.”
“Let them believe whatever they want, so long as they get elected and bring about their promised cease-fire. The independence of our nation shall date from the moment that official emissaries of the United States sit down with official emissaries of the Confederate States.”
“Perhaps so. The prospective friend I wish you to meet may have some interesting things to say on that point.”
“And who is this gentleman?” Davis asked, growing impatient.
“A young man named Edward Malet.”
The name meant nothing to Davis. “Who is he? More importantly, why should I care about him?”
“He has arrived in Richmond, having run through the blockade into Wilmington, with letters addressed to you from Lord Lyons, Her Majesty’s Minister to the United States. In other words, Malet is an emissary from the British government.”
Davis found Benjamin’s words astonishing. If an official emissary from the British Empire had arrived in Richmond, it was an event of tremendous importance. The Secretary of State, however, was playing one of his usual games, acting coyly and pretending that the matter was of no significance. Davis was about to reprimand him when the driver shouted out for his horses to halt and he felt the carriage quickly slow to a stop. Glancing out the window, he saw the familiar Italianate architecture of the Executive Building of the Confederate government. A moment later, a slave was opening the door and helping the President and Secretary of State out onto the street.
The two men walked into the building and, after a few minutes spent in exchanging greetings with the officers and officials who had also forsaken the Sabbath, began walking up the stairs.
“Where is he?”
“I told him to wait in your office.”
“How do we know he is legitimate?”
“I ordered my clerks to comb through the newspapers for any mention of him when he announced his presence to me yesterday. He has been the secretary of the British legations in a few European cities and is currently serving as the personal secretary to Lord Lyons.”
“Very well. He has certainly piqued my interest. Let’s meet this fellow.”
Benjamin opened the door and they both stepped inside. Looking across the room to his desk, Davis saw a well-dressed man in his late twenties rise to his feet, a sharp look in his eyes and an expression of curiosity on his face. He bowed his head respectfully.
“Mr. Davis, I presume?” in a crisp English accent.
“I am President Davis.”
“You’ll forgive me if I cannot use that title at present. As you know, my government does not currently recognize the Confederate States of America as a sovereign state.”
Davis crossed the room and shook Malet’s extended hand. “I do hope that this unpleasant state of affairs may be resolved at some point in the near future.”
“We shall see, sir.”
Davis sat in his chair, while Benjamin took a seat beside Malet. For a moment, he stared across the desk, sizing up the British visitor. “My Secretary of State tells me that you have letters for me from Lord Lyons?”
“I do. My instructions were to confer with you in person, leaving the letters only to ensure that there is no possibility of misunderstanding.”
“Very well. Am I to assume that this is an official communication from Her Majesty’s Government to the Confederate States of America?”
Malet smiled. “No, sir. Our position is that these letters constitute only a private communication between two gentlemen.”
Davis grunted with irritation. “Well, what is it that Lord Lyons wishes to say to me?”
Malet cleared his throat before beginning. “It has become clear to Her Majesty’s Government that the political situation in the United States, specifically with regards to the upcoming elections, make it increasingly unlikely that the North shall be able to compel the entity calling itself the Confederate States of America – you will apologize that I must use such terminology – to return to the Union by force of arms. Owing to the fortunes of war, you have halted the Northern advance in both major theaters of the war, inflicted a decisive battlefield defeat on one of the two main Northern armies, and inflicted tremendous losses on the Northern forces.”
“I am glad to know that London is paying such close attention,” Davis said.
Malet ignored the quip. “The reality of the military situation obviously makes it more than likely that the Lincoln administration will not be reelected in November and that a Democratic administration led by George McClellan will take office in March. The recently announced platform of the Democratic Party and the various political promises McClellan has had to make further indicate that, when the McClellan administration is inaugurated, the North shall offer a cease-fire to the South with a view toward ending the war by negotiation.”
“And if such an event comes to pass, what shall be the position of the British government?” Benjamin asked.
“If a cease-fire goes into effect and negotiations between the two opposing sides in the present war are initiated, the British government believes it would be in its interest to recognize the government of the Confederate States of America and offer to mediate the dispute between yourselves and the United States.”
Davis’s heart quickened. After the twin disasters of Gettysburg and Vicksburg the previous year, he had all but abandoned hope that diplomatic recognition would ever be granted by Britain. The fruits of Peachtree Creek now revealed that pessimism to have been misplaced.
“I am very glad to hear that,” Davis said.
“Of course. But before the British extend diplomatic recognition to your Confederacy and offer mediation, we require certain assurances.”
“Assurances?” Davis asked, confused. “What sort of assurances?”
“Firstly, we wish to know what terms you shall seek in any peace negotiations with the United States.”
Davis furrowed his brow, wanting to collect his thoughts before answering such a broad and critical question. Without speaking, he rose from his chair and opened a cabinet next to his desk. Producing a bottle of Kentucky bourbon, he poured three glasses and set two of them in front of Benjamin and Malet.
“You drink bourbon?”
“I have just recently discovered it,” Malet responded, his eyes flashing. “I confess I did not expect it to be as good as the scotch to which I am accustomed, but I have found your bourbon to be its equal and occasionally its superior.”
Davis took a lingering sip, delighting in the fiery alcoholic feeling the bourbon lit in his throat. As he waited for the liquor to descend to his stomach, he pondered Malet’s question more carefully. Benjamin and the British envoy waited patiently, sipping their own glasses with appreciation.
After a few minutes of silence, Davis again spoke. “Obviously, the single most important item shall be a full acknowledgement by the United States government that the Confederacy is a sovereign and independent nation. It must be made clear that the United States government has no more right to intervene in the affairs of the Confederacy than does the E
mperor of Japan.”
“Of course,” Malet said with a grin. “But that’s the easy part, isn’t it?”
“You’re correct. There are many other issues.”
“Her Majesty’s Government would appreciate knowing your positions on those issues.”“First, we must get Tennessee back. Its secession cannot legally be in doubt, but most of the state is currently under Union occupation and we do not expect the Yankees to simply pack up and leave. Second, the status of the border states of Missouri and Kentucky must be clarified, as must the status of the Indian Territory and New Mexico. West Virginia, too. Finally, any peace agreement should include a rational settlement on fortifications and deployed military units along the respective border.”
Malet nodded. “I agree with what you say. Any peace agreement must include clear statements about your respective borders. I would expect, however, that the United States shall require a provision for free navigation of the Mississippi River, so as to ensure that the agricultural produce of the Great Plains shall not be deprived of its most convenient route to world markets.”
“We would have no objection to that.”
“Good.”
“We do, however, expect significant financial compensation for the damage wrought by Union forces against civilian property in the Confederacy.” For a moment, his mind drifted to his plantation at Brierfield, on the Mississippi River just south of Vicksburg. He had spent a lifetime building it, but it had been completely destroyed by Union soldiers in 1863. He wondered for a moment what had become of the two dozen slaves who had lived at Brierfield and silently said a prayer for their well-being.
“I do not believe that the British government would support such a claim, as it strikes me as unlikely to be accepted by the United States government.”
“You asked for our position. I gave it.”
“Of course, Mr. Davis.”
Benjamin chimed in. “Perhaps there are concessions the Confederacy might extend to the British Empire in exchange for support from Her Majesty’s Government for our claims?”
Malet took another sip of his bourbon. “Obviously, the British Empire hopes to have friendly relations with the Confederacy in the event that it emerges victorious from the present conflict. Certainly, there are actions your government might take which would promote such a relationship.”
“Such as?” Davis asked, mildly irritated. He did not like the idea of Malet dictating anything to him. After all, Malet was a mere boy in his late twenties, whereas Davis was an experienced politician and soldier who served as the chief executive of an entire nation. Davis had to remind himself that Malet was the representative of the British Empire, whose mighty Royal Navy bestrode the world like a colossus.
Davis remembered the story of Gaius Popillius, the diplomat dispatched by the Roman Republic to order the withdrawal of a Greek king, Antiochus IV, who was on the verge of conquering Egypt. Alone and in full view of the Greek army, Popillius had taken his staff and drawn a circle in the sand around Antiochus, ordering him to decide whether or not he would obey the Roman demands before stepping outside the circle. Cowed by the might of Rome, distant though it was, Antiochus had caved in and ordered his men to retreat out of Egypt. One unarmed man had forced the withdrawal of an entire army merely by the threat of what he represented.
Malet was talking. “Before the war, the textile mills of England were supplied with Southern cotton of good quality and in tremendous quantity. When the war is over and the blockade is gone, we hope to restore this mutually beneficial economic partnership.”
“That would also be our wish,” Davis said.
“We would like to codify this in the form of a treaty guaranteeing free trade.”
“The Senate would obviously have to ratify any trade treaty, but I do not foresee a problem there.” Davis had been a fierce opponent of tariffs before the war and knew most members of the Confederate Senate shared his views on the subject. Indeed, it was one of the few things Southern politicians actually agreed on, aside from a few who represented sugar producers on the Gulf Coast.
“What else?” Benjamin asked, his voice sounding concerned.
Malet hesitated just a moment, then withdrew several pieces of paper from an envelope he was holding and passed them over to Davis. “Her Majesty’s Government hope and expect the Confederacy, should it emerge victorious and independent, to agree to the terms of this treaty.”
Davis frowned and quickly put on his reading spectacles. As he read, his heart turned to ice. Finishing five minutes later, he looked up at Malet.
“A treaty for the suppression of the slave trade?”
“Precisely.”
Davis frowned and dropped the papers onto the desk. “Such a treaty is unnecessary. The Confederate Constitution already prohibits the importation of slaves from overseas. As far as I’m concerned, that settles the matter.”
“The laws of the United States have also prohibited the slave trade for more than half a century, but slave ships have continued to ply the seas between Africa and America. Destroying the slave trade requires more than words on a piece of paper. The provisions of the treaty we propose will allow for the proper enforcement of the ban.”
“What you are proposing would allow the Royal Navy to stop and search our merchant vessels on the high seas. That would represent an infringement upon our national sovereignty.”
“The language of the treaty states clearly that those ships enforcing the ban would only stop vessels if they were suspected of being slave traders. Ordinary vessels would not be bothered. If you genuinely believe that the constitutional prohibition against the slave trade is sufficient in and of itself, the Royal Navy will never have to stop any Confederate ships and therefore the treaty should present no difficulties for you.”
“But who would make the judgment as to which ships are to be stopped and searched?” Benjamin asked. “Are such powers to be delegated to every British naval officer in the Atlantic Ocean?”
“The treaty, as you can see, specifies the nature of the vessels which shall be stopped and searched. In fact, the treaty I am proposing is identical to the one signed between the United Kingdom and the United States two years ago.”
Davis shook his head. “I cannot see the Senate going along with this. Setting aside concerns about our sovereignty, many Senators would object to any suggestion that slavery is not completely acceptable by all moral and ethical standards.”
“If that is the case, why does the Confederate Constitution ban the slave trade?”
For a moment, Davis found that he was unable to answer.
Malet went on. “The attitudes of your Senate aside, you must be aware that the British people are firmly opposed to slavery. Had it not been for the existence of slavery in your Confederacy, we should have extended you diplomatic recognition long ago. Twist the truth any way you like, you cannot deny the fact that the reason the Southern states seceded from the Union in the first place was to protect the institution of slavery. Had there been no slavery, there would have been no war.”
Anger flared in Davis and his lips curled into a grimace. “I tried all in my power to avert this war. I saw it coming. For twelve years I worked night and day to prevent it. But I could not. The North was mad and blind. It would not let us govern ourselves. So the war came. Now it must go on until the North acknowledges our right to self-government. We are not fighting for slavery, sir. We are fighting for independence. And that, or extermination, we shall have, even if it leaves every Southern field in ruins and every Southern city in flames!” He ended with a powerful bang of his fist against his desk, rattling the papers and pens which sat upon it.
“Calm yourself, Mr. Davis,” Malet said evenly, not even slightly perturbed by the emotional display. “Unless the Confederacy can give Britain, and the world, some measure of reassurance on the slavery question by agreeing to this treaty, we shall not grant you the recognition you seek, nor shall we offer to mediate your dispute with the North. Your country sh
all simply be a pariah, assuming it succeeds in obtaining its independence and not immediately falling into economic and political chaos. After all, although we would prefer the convenience of importing Southern cotton, the shortage caused by the Union blockade has turned us toward other sources, including Egypt, Brazil, and our own colonies in India. We can make do without Southern cotton if we so wish.”
Davis felt as though Malet was holding a gun to his head. The story of Gaius Popillius again resonated through his mind. Britain was the workshop of the world. It had been economic gospel before the war that the textile factories of Manchester and Birmingham would slow to a halt without the flow of Southern cotton. If the British could obtain cotton from other producers, however, the South would have nothing on which to build their postwar economy.
“I do not have the constitutional authority to agree to such a treaty on my own. The most I can do would be to sign it and then submit it to the Senate for ratification.”
“That alone would be met with great approval by Her Majesty’s Government.”
“And that would suffice as the gesture against slavery you claim Britain requires in order to mediate a peace agreement?”
Malet grinned. “Not quite. We would also require that the Confederacy accept the loss of those slaves freed under the Emancipation Proclamation.”
“Those slaves are the property of Confederate citizens.”
“That is not the position of Her Majesty’s Government.”
Doubts flooded Davis’s mind. He had long acknowledged to himself that only the most deluded fire-eater could believe that the slaves already freed by the Yankees could ever be returned to servitude. After any man, white or black, had tasted freedom, he could never abide losing it again. In every portion of the Confederacy that had been subjected to Union occupation - Tennessee, the Mississippi Valley, northern Virginia, much of the Atlantic seaboard - the infrastructure of slavery had been systematically dismantled. Hundreds of thousands of slaves had been set free. Many thousands of former slaves now served in the ranks of the Union Army and Davis knew from long experience how the pride of a man was infinitely magnified by wearing a uniform and shouldering a musket.
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