Terrible Swift Sword (18 page)

Charles Francis Adams was not in London
at the time. He was spending a few days at Frystone, the home of Richard
Monckton Milnes, one of the few upper-class Britishers who was showing
friendship to the American minister, and, on November 27, Mr. Adams and his
host, with others, had gone forth in a chilly drizzle to inspect Pomfret
Castle, historic scene of the murder of Richard II. Around midday Adams received
a telegram from the American Legation, announcing the news, and he retained his
correct Bostonian composure even though his reflections on what might come of
Captain Wilkes's act "prevented me from thinking much of historical
associations." His host offered to get him back to London at once, but
Mr. Adams replied that all things considered he would like to stay at Frystone
a day or two longer; right at the moment London was the last place on earth
where he wanted to

be. Until he heard from Seward and found
out what his government was doing, the American minister must be both quiet and
inconspicuous. Fortunately, there was no Atlantic cable, and it took about
three weeks for London to send a message to Washington and get a reply. There
would be a breathing spell in which the current excitement might die down
slightly, in which somebody, on one side of the Atlantic or the other, perhaps
even on both sides, might have sober second thoughts. The minister would be
reserved.

Mr. Adams had no real
idea what was happening. He knew that an American warship had been sent to the
English Channel to intercept the Confederate cruiser
Nashville,
on which, according to rumor, Mason and
Slidell had planned to sail. That a British merchantman instead of a Southern
warship had been used, and stopped, struck the minister as calamitous, and it
seemed quite likely that the whole thing was in line with Mr. Seward's
aggressive foreign policy, about which the American minister had worried
earlier. It was perfectly conceivable that the Secretary now was actually
reaching out for that foreign war which had obsessed him so much in the spring.
It also seemed to Mr. Adams that American naval officers brought trouble no
matter what they did; it was bad when they were too sluggish but it was even
worse when they were too active. . . . Mr. Adams presently returned to London,
where he warned the Legation staff that they probably would not be in London
more than another month.
¹²

Some
of the thoughts which had come to Mr. Adams had occurred also to the British
government. It was known that the American naval power had been most anxious to
seize Mason and Slidell; it was known, as well, that Mr. Seward was a man of
expedients who gained domestic political advantage by being, or by at least
seeming to be, strongly anti-British. (It was asserted that when the Prince of
Wales visited America in the fall of 1860 Seward had told the Duke of Newcastle
that he expected to hold high office very soon and that "it will then
become my duty to insult England, and I mean to do so.") Mr. Adams's son
Henry doubtless reflected general opinion at the Legation when he wrote to his
brother: "I consider that we are dished and that our position is hopeless."
The British, he said, certainly meant to make war if it developed that Wilke's
act reflected the fixed policy of the American government, and he added:
"What Seward means is more than I can guess. But if he means war also, or
to run as close as he can without touching, then I say that Mr. Seward is the
greatest criminal we've had yet." The minister himself remarked that one big
reason for the excitement in London was the myth that "Mr. Seward is an
ogre fully resolved to eat all Englishmen raw."
¹³

Actually, Mr. Seward meant no harm. Even
before he learned about the stormy times in London he wrote to Mr. Adams
pointing out that Wilkes's act was entirely unauthorized. He also called in
General McClellan, the recently appointed general-in-chief, and asked him what
the possibilities were in case America should find itself at war with Great
Britain. McClellan unhesitatingly replied that if the nation were to fight
Great Britain it might as well give up all hope of winning its war with the
Southern Confederacy: and Mr. Seward, accepting this professional opinion, remarked
that "if the matter took that turn, they" (Mason and Slidell)
"must at once be given up."
¹⁴
But it might not be easy.
Too many Americans applauded the seizure. To climb down would be hard at best,
and it would be wholly impossible if the British were too arrogant about it.

Seward's legal mind was fascinated with
the interesting theory by which Captain Wilkes justified the captures. Wilkes
pointed out that under international law a nation at war could properly halt a
neutral ship in order to seize enemy dispatches. Such dispatches, by general
agreement, were contraband of war. Mason and Slidell had carried no
dispatches, to be sure, but it seemed to Captain Wilkes that they themselves
were the very embodiment of dispatches, since they were charged to the ears
with instructions, messages, arguments, and high state secrets. As living
dispatches, then, they were, by a curious inversion of Ben Butler's reasoning
in respect to fugitive slaves, contraband of war, and they could in
consequence be removed legally from a neutral ship on the high seas. If this
theory were accepted, Captain Wilkes had made only one mistake: he should have
seized the
Trent
and
brought the ship into an American port for adjudication by a prize court. The
convolutions of this part of the argument led Mr. Adams to remark dryly that
"Great Britain would have been less offended if the United States had
insulted her a great deal more."
¹⁵

The whole
Trent
affair was a sea lawyer's dream anyway.

Not only was there this fascinating theory
put forward by Captain Wilkes; under everything there was a fact which was
bound to embarrass both governments if they let themselves think about it. Half
a century earlier they had made war upon one another, at least partly because
Great Britain then insisted on doing what America had done now and because
America then fought to uphold the position now taken by the British. The whole
business of the right of search and seizure at sea was mixed up in it; as the
world's greatest sea power, Britain might not be too happy to fight in order to
restrict that right. (France and other nations were openly disapproving Captain
Wilkes's act because they did want that right restricted.) On the other hand,
America's historic defense of the freedom of the seas simply did not have room
for a defense of the sort of thing Captain Wilkes had done.

Dangerous
as the situation looked, and was, both governments were in fact anxious to
keep the crisis below flash point. On November 30 Lord Russell sent to Windsor
Castle drafts of the dispatches which the cabinet proposed to send to Washington,
the most important of which was a tart demand for reparations and apology,
which Lord Lyons must give to Secretary Seward. The Royal Consort, Prince
Albert, was unwell; was in fact sickening with the malady which two weeks later
would kill him. He studied the drafts that evening, and early the next morning,
unable to sleep, he considered their revision. Queen Victoria wrote in her
diary that "he could eat no breakfast and was very wretched," but he
composed a memorandum for her (although he felt almost too weak to hold the
pen) and this memorandum greatly changed the tone which the government was
about to use. It was in fact an attempt to make it easier for the United
States to descend from Captain Wilkes's high horse if the United States really
wanted to remain at peace.

In
substance, Prince Albert suggested a rephrasing so that the British ultimatum
would express confidence that Captain Wilkes had not acted under instruction,
that the United States had not really meant to insult the British flag, and
that on due reflection Washington would "spontaneously offer such redress
as alone would satisfy this country, viz., the restoration of the unfortunate
passengers and a suitable apology." The note remained stiff enough, to be
sure: Mason and Slidell must be released and Washington must say that it was
sorry about the whole affair; but there was a strong "let's not
fight" twist to it, an absence of the dictatorial, angry tone which would
have made it impossible for any American political leader to give ground. As
Seward himself remarked later, when Lord Lyons told him he had a dispatch for
him, everything depended on the way it was worded.
¹⁸

The
cabinet accepted the revisions, apparently with a feeling of relief, and the
Prince in his turn was happy that the dispatch was to be shorn "of
everything which could irritate a proud and sensitive nation." Lord
Russell privately notified Lord Lyons that "the disposition of the cabinet
is to accept the liberation of the captive commissioners and to be rather easy
about the apology"—adding, however, that an apology by itself would not be
enough: the prisoners must also be freed. Lord Lyons, in turn, behaved just as
Mr. Adams had been behaving; that is, he kept very quiet. He sent to Lord
Russell copies of American newspapers (which were praising Captain Wilkes and
generally uttering defiance) with the remark that "to a person accustomed
to the strong language of the American press, these articles appear moderate
and even subdued in tone." The London
Times
man in Washington, the now-famous Bull Run
Russell, did report that Mr. Seward was talking in warlike vein, saying
"We will wrap the whole world in flames," but a Washington friend
told him to pay no attention: "When Seward talks that way he means to
break down. He is most dangerous and obstinate when he pretends to agree a good
deal with you."
¹⁷

Old General Scott was in Paris, his work
in Washington finished, his health atrocious; but he sat down with Thurlow
Weed, Seward's political guide, who was also visiting Europe, and with John
Bigelow, the American consul, to pour oil on the troubled seas. Over Scott's
name they produced a public statement saying that America certainly would
"regard no honorable sacrifice too great for the preservation of the
friendship of Great Britain," and predicting that Washington would
happily free its captives if that would help to "emancipate the commerce
of the world." Scott had a massive reputation in Europe, and the statement
helped to reduce the tension. But if his country was to fight the British,
Scott wanted to be back home; he broke off his visit and took ship for New
York, writing to Seward that "I am returning home to share in perils,
without the least hope of being useful," and adding: "I hope for
peace with England, on honorable terms, & a speedy suppression of the
rebellion. If not, O that I were 10 or 15 years less aged!"
¹⁸

In the end it was all
settled peaceably. Lord Lyons received the softened dispatch from the British
cabinet, consulted Seward, assured him that the document did not breathe forth
fire and slaughter, and gave it to him, and on Christmas Day there was a long
cabinet meeting at which President Lincoln and his advisers finally agreed that
the only thing to do was to free the prisoners. Mr. Lincoln confessed later
that "it was a bitter pill to swallow," but he seems for some time to
have felt that Mason and Slidell were white elephants, more difficult to hold
than to liberate, and Attorney General Bates stated the obvious truth: to hold
the prisoners meant a war with England, and "we must avoid it
now
and for the plain reason that
now
we are not able to meet it." Secretary
Seward prepared an elaborate dispatch to be sent to London; it argued the case
at substantial length, but pointed out that Wilkes had acted without orders
(disavowed, the act need not be apologized for) and closed by announcing that
the prisoners "will be cheerfully liberated." Lord Lyons wrote to
Lord Russell saying that in his opinion the British government's demands had
been substantially complied with, and Lord Russell replied that the American
words and actions "constitute the reparation which Her Majesty and the
British nation had a right to expect." Mason and Slidell and their
secretaries, J. E. MacFarland and George Eustis, were liberated, H.M.S.
Rinaldo
called at Provincetown, Massachusetts, to
pick them up and take them to England, and the case was closed. When the news
reached London, Mr. Adams and Mrs. Adams soberly congratulated one another,
and the Secretary at the Legation noted that the news was announced between the
acts at most London theaters "and the audiences rose like one &
cheered tremendously."
¹⁹

So it was over, and the moment when
Britain might intervene to make the Southern Condederacy independent passed.
No one had watched it more closely than Robert E. Lee, who was still trying to
find some way to keep the Federals from taking full advantage of what they had
won in South Carolina, and he wrote thoughtfully: "We must make up our
minds to fight our battles ourselves. Expect to receive aid from no one. Make
every necessary sacrifice of Comfort, money and labor to bring the war to a
successful issue & then we will Succeed. The cry is too much
for
help. I am mortified to hear it. We want no
aid. We want to be true
to
ourselves,
to be prudent, just, fair & bold. I am dreadfully disappointed at the
spirit here. They have all of a sudden
realized
the
asperities of war.
...
If I only had
some veteran troops to take the brunt they would soon rally &
be
inspired
with the great
principle for which we are Contending."
²⁰

5.
Revolutionary Struggle

The silver lining slowly disappeared,
and as 1861 drew toward its end the
Confederate
capital showed a queer blend of lingering
optimism and rising pessimism. On the surface things still looked good, and
Varina Davis noted that most politicians, taking eventual European recognition
for granted, were planning to join in the scramble for high office which would
follow the attainment of full independence. The Richmond
Examiner,
mixing bile with insight, remarked that the
Confederacy had passed its hour of greatest peril, the time in which it might
have been overwhelmed before it could raise an army or prepare its defenses,
and asserted: "If we are conquered at all now, it must be done by the
regular and ordinary means of war, and not
by
the rush of a vast mob." Its enemies
were contemptible: "The Yankee, always held in supreme contempt abroad as
a swindling, low-bred huckster, is now regarded as destitute of courage,"
and no British Grenadier or French Zouave could ask for better sport than
"hunting the swift-footed antelopes of McClellan." Still, trouble lay
ahead. The Northern peace party had vanished, and Yankee recruits,
"however vile and cowardly they may be," would be dangerous when
drilled, organized, and equipped in large numbers. The armies the Confederacy
must fight next year would be different from the hordes that had been routed at
Bull Run. All in all, the Confederacy must reorganize its own army:
"Unless it places it on a different footing from the present, its chance
next year will
be
bad."
¹