Stars and Stripes Forever

THE EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON NOVEMBER 15,1861

Wind-driven rain splattered against the office window; a cold draft of air whistled in around its ancient frame. John Hay, Abraham Lincoln’s secretary, added more coal to the fire and stirred it until the flames blazed high. The President looked up from his paper-strewn desk and nodded approvingly.

“A cold day, John — but not half as chill, I believe, as last evening at General McClellan’s home.”

“That man, sir, something must be done — ” Hay was spluttering with rage.

“There is very little to be done that I can think of. Even generals cannot be shot for impoliteness.”

“This was more than impoliteness — it was a downright insult to his Commander-in-Chief. While we sat in that room waiting for his return he did come back and went directly upstairs. Refusing to see you, the President!”

“I am indeed the President, yes, but not an absolute monarch, not quite yet. And not even an absolute President, since you will remember, as the Democratic politicians are so fond of reminding me, that I was elected with a minority of the popular vote. At times it appears that I have more opposition in Congress than I do in Richmond. Dealing with the quarrelsome Senate and House is very close to a full-time job.”

Lincoln ran his fingers through his thick mane of hair, looked out gloomily at the driving rain. “You must remember that first things come first — and the firstest thing of all is this terrible conflict that we are so deeply engaged in. In order to win this unhappy war I must rely on the generals and soldiers. It is a time for a great deal of patience and an even greater amount of sagacity — particularly with this young McClellan, General-in-Chief who is also Commander of the Army of the Potomac, which stands between this city and the enemy forces.”

“Stands is indeed the correct word. An army which drills and drills and gets more troops — and goes absolutely nowhere at a glacial speed.”

“Perfectly true. This war seems to have ground to a halt. It has been six months since the Rebels captured Fort Sumter and hostilities began. Since then only the success of the blockading squadrons gives me cheer. This year began with feelings of enmity and apprehension. We are building our army — and the Secessionists are doing the same. Since the battles of Bull Run and Ball’s Bluff there have only been minor skirmishes. Yet the tension continues to build. This war will not end easily and I fear the dreadful battles that are sure to come.” He looked up as the office door opened.

“Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt you,” his other secretary, John Nicolay, said. “But the Secretary of the Navy is here.”

Abraham Lincoln was tired, very tired. The papers on his desk and filling its pigeonholes multiplied daily. For every problem that was resolved two more seemed to spring up in its place. He had rested his hand on his head, and his long fingers were heedlessly rumpling his hair. He was glad of the distraction. “It’s no interruption, John. Send him through.”

“And the reports are here that you asked for — as well as these letters for you to sign.”

Lincoln sighed and pointed at the cluttered pigeonholes in the tall desk. “In with the rest, Nico, and I promise that they shall have my attention.”

He stood and stretched wearily, shuffling past the stern portrait of Andrew Jackson and over to the marble fireplace. He had his coattails lifted and was warming himself before the fire when Hay left and Secretary Welles came in; the President pointed at the paper he was carrying.

“I imagine that is a dispatch of some importance that you are holding in your hand,” Lincoln said.

Gideon Welles, the Secretary of the Navy, hid a shrewd brain behind his abundant chin whiskers and exotic wig. “Some exciting and interesting news has just arrived by military telegraph from Hampton Roads.” He started to pass over the sheet of paper but Lincoln held up a halting hand.

“Please then, tell me about it and save my weary eyes.”

“Simple enough to do, Mr. President. The screw sloop San Jacinto stopped in the port at Hampton Roads to refuel and the captain sent this message. They have Mason and Slidell aboard.”

“Now that is the kind of good news that is pretty rare around here.” The battered maplewood armchair creaked as Lincoln settled into it and leaned back, tenting his long fingers together. “I do believe that we will all sleep the better these nights with the knowledge that those two are not conspiring right across Europe, causing fierce kinds of mischief.”

“I’m afraid that the situation is not all that simple. As you know, since they escaped from the South and ran the blockade in the Gordon, they have been one step ahead of us all of the way. First in the Bahamas, then in Cuba. We have had a small fleet of ships tracking them down.”

“And now they have succeeded.”

“Indeed they have. However there is a complication. The rebels were not arrested on land, or taken from a Confederate vessel. That would have been perfectly legal during the present state of war. It appears however that they were taken from a British mail packet, the Trent. Which was stopped at sea.”

Lincoln thought deeply about this, then sighed. Like dragon’s teeth his troubles did multiply. “We must send for Seward. The Secretary of State will want to know about this at once. But how could this happen? Weren’t there orders issued about halting neutral ships at sea?”

“There were. But the captain of the San Jacinto never received them — and it appears that he had different orders altogether. He has been at sea some time and was supposed to return with his ship from Fernando Po, bring it to the navy yard. Nothing more. He must have heard of the chase when he returned and refueled. Since then he has proceeded on his own.”

“It shows an independence of spirit — though perhaps a bit misplaced.”

“Yes. I am given to understand that Captain Wilkes has a very independent spirit. In fact some in the navy call it insubordination and bad temper.”

The door opened and Seward came in.

“Read this, William,” the President said. “Then we will decide what must be done.”

The Secretary of State quickly scanned the dispatch, frowning as he did so. Always a cautious man, and one not given to precipitate decisions, he read it again, more slowly this time. Then tapped it with his index finger.

“Two things strike me at once. Firstly these traitors must be secured safely under lock and key. We have them now and we do not want to lose them. I suggest, Gideon, that you telegraph the San Jacinto’s commander that as soon as his vessel has refueled he is to proceed at once to New York City. Further instructions will await him there.”

Lincoln nodded. “I agree. While he is making his passage we can give serious thought as to what we should do with these men now that we have them in our hands.”

“I am in complete agreement as well,” Welles said, then hurried to give the order.

There was a sudden loud barking from under the President’s desk and Welles started. Lincoln smiled at him.

“Have no fear — this dog does not bite,” he said as the boy burst from his hiding place, grinning from ear to ear as he hugged his father’s long legs.

“Our Willie is a great lad,” Lincoln said as the boy ran happily from the room. “Some day he will be a great man — I feel that in my bones.” His smile faded away. “But those same bones are feeling a certain disquiet over this Trent affair.” The President’s first pleasure at hearing the news now gave way to a feeling of dark premonition. “I can well imagine what your second consideration is going to be. What repercussions must we look forward to when word reaches London ? Our friends the British are already bothered about this war of rebellion, as they tell us quite often.”

“That was indeed my very thought. Troubles will have to be faced as they arise. But at least we have the rebel troublemakers now.”

“We do indeed. Two birds in the hand. I imagine that diplomatic complaints and discussions will proceed at their usual snail-like pace. Protests carried across the Atlantic by ship, responses sent back by even slower ones. Diplomacy always takes time. Perhaps if enough time passes with questions and answers and replies, why the matter might soon be forgotten.”

“I pray that you are correct, Mr. President. But as you are well aware there is already much agitation among the British about the present conflict. They side with the rebellious states and bitterly resent the disruption in cotton shipments caused by our blockade. There are reports that some Lancashire mills are closing. I am afraid that this country of ours is not very popular at this time, in Britain, or even elsewhere on the continent.”

“There are a lot worse things on the earth than not being popular. Like the story about the rabbit who got angry at the old hounddog and he went and got all the other rabbits to get together with him and give the hounddog a good hiding. Not that the hounddog minded — he hadn’t et that well in years.”

“The English are not rabbits, Mr. Lincoln.”

“Indeed they are not. But this particular old hounddog is going to worry about trouble only when it comes. Meanwhile two very painful thorns have been removed from our hide. We must now find a secure container to put them in, lock them away out of sight and then, hopefully, forget all about them. Perhaps this entire matter might blow over and be forgotten as well.”

“God blast and damn every one of those poxy Yankees!”

Lord Palmerston, the Prime Minister of Britain, stamped the length of his office, then back again. The dispatch from Southampton was lying on his desk. He seized it up and read it again; his large nostrils flared with rage, big as cannon muzzles. His lordship’s temper was not very good at the best of times; now it was fully on the boil. Lord John Russell just sat quietly and waited, preferring not to be noticed. Alas, this was not to be.

Lord Palmerston crumpled the sheet, hurled it from him, turned on Russell and stabbed out a finger that trembled with rage. “You are the Foreign Minister, which means that this matter is your responsibility. Now, sir — what do you intend to do about it?”

“Protest, of course. My secretary is already preparing a draft. I will then consult with you — ”

“Not bloody good enough. Give those rebellious Yankees an inch and they’ll want an ell. What we must do is get them by the scruff and give them a sound shaking. Like a terrier with a rat. This has been an infamous deed that must be answered instantly — and with great firmness. I shall remove you of the responsibility and shall take care of this matter myself. It is my firm intention to get off a dispatch that will blow the Yankees right out of the water.”

“I am sure that there are precedents, sir. And then we must consult with the Queen…”

“Damn the precedents and — of course, yes, we surely must bring this matter to the attention of the Queen. Though I dread the thought of another meeting with her so soon. The last time I was at Buckingham Palace she was in the middle of one of those screaming fits, flying through the corridors. At least this nasty bit of news will draw her attention. But I am sure that she will be even more than outraged about this than we are, doesn’t like those Americans at all.”

“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 waited 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 perhaps 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.