While Lamson waited, he was turning over in his mind everything Dudley had told him and how that information would affect his mission and what the ambassador would have to say to him.
Eventually the light reappeared at the head of the stairs followed by young Adams, lamp in hand. “The ambassador will see you shortly. Please, make yourself comfortable in the parlor here.” He motioned into the dark with the lamp and led Lamson into a room furnished with New England simplicity but quality. Lighting another lamp, he asked if he should rouse the servants to put on some tea. Lamson declined. He discovered to his dismay that young Adams had the gift of small talk to a great degree and, even more, could carry on without much of a response. The content was certainly consistent-Henry’s travails in getting introduced into British society. He prattled on in tones of enervated boredom, aping a cultivated English accent that Lamson found more than annoying.
Bored is he? thought Lamson. I’ve got a cure for that-holystoning a deck soaks up a lot of boredom.
Not more than ten minutes later, the ambassador mercifully entered. Charles Francis Adams, U.S. ambassador to Great Britain, was an American institution. His position was practically an inherited office. His grandfather, John Adams, and his father, John Quincy Adams, had both preceded him to represent the United States. He himself had served as his father’s private secretary, as his father had served his grandfather. Lamson considered Henry Adams and thought to himself that the tradition had no future. The Adams line seemed to have watered down considerably in this latest generation, but that was not true for the father. Charles Adams was all Massachusetts-obdurate, stoic, outwardly cool, duty driven, and humorless. He was a spare old man, balding with a thin remnant of white hair driven to the edge of his scalp. A carefully trimmed white beard ran under his chin. His greatest talent was the ability to relentlessly represent the interests of the United States to the British government with great force against a gale of slights, insults, and hostile acts. He was ever at Lord Russell’s heels with another remonstration or argument.
Unfortunately, he failed to detect the true character of the senior members in the British Ministry. Russell had completely deceived him for two years. Unbeknownst to Adams, he had previously been the leading force in attempting to organize joint British, French, and Russian intervention to stop the war, which would have secured the South its independence. Russell firmly believed that a reunited United States would pose a long-term threat to British world hegemony and so British interests should be on the side of a dismembered Union. Palmerston, whom Adams blamed for the government’s hostility to the Union, had actually been a check on Russell’s rush in 1862 to force a negotiated peace on the North and South.
Charles Adams greeted Lamson politely but to the point. He made no small talk. Henry’s talent in that regard must have been inherited from the female line. Undoubtedly the lack of the convivial nature of diplomacy was a hindrance to his role as minister, but he did not seem to care. He paused only a moment to appraise Lamson.
“I have already been informed of your mission by Secretary Seward. Since he stated that your arrival would be cut very fine, I took the liberty as well of informing Captain Winslow of the Kearsarge, which is lying off Vlissingen (Flushing) in the Netherlands, in case you did not arrive in time.”
“Sir, I believe that the Navy Department was to inform Kearsarge as well.” Lamson was not going to plan on being assisted by the Kearsarge, the one thousand and thirty-one-ton, eight-gun sloop cruising the U.S. Navy’s Channel Station. All well and good if she appeared, but he must act as if that would not happen. Besides, Winslow would rank him if the ships met and garner all the glory.
Adams came to the point. “Dudley has briefed you on the situation with the rams in Liverpool. His daily reports indicate that they are nearing completion. I have submitted to Lord Russell the most damning proofs of Confederate complicity in the building of these ships.
“You see what we are up against. Palmerston had tied Russell’s hands completely. There is not a single important instance in which the British government has not interpreted these issues in the favor of the Confederacy. I will take you into the strictest confidence, since your actions may well have to be guided by this information. Secretary Seward has instructed me to inform Her Majesty’s government that the United States has no choice but to issue letters of marque and will pursue Confederate vessels into neutral ports that ‘become harbors for these pirates.’
“Moreover, there are strong elements within the British ministry that desire a war be initiated by the United States. That will be the signal for the European dismemberment of the United States. Louis Napoleon only awaits Britain’s lead. Their only break, and it has its limits, is Russia, which has consistently offered its advice and goodwill and its diplomatic support. We are not entirely alone in Europe.”
It was clear to Lamson what the stakes were. The British government was about to connive at the escape of the rams. If they were not intercepted, the United States would have no other choice than to go to war.
For the first time, Henry Adams spoke. “You forget the Germans, Father. Don’t forget the Prussian king coldly refused to receive a Confederate agent or allow any of his officials to have anything to do with him. And I can hardly believe the Prussian prime minister, Otto von Bismarck, would see any advantage in supporting France in such a war, when it is France, and Austria, of course, that stands in the way of German unification, the chief strategic objective of the Prussian Kingdom.”
His speech was another surprise for Lamson. The fop could think. He must have learned something in the last two years. Lamson was slightly impressed.
The ambassador turned to Lamson. “My son has shown you why I am sending him with you.”
“Father!”
“He will be… as a political and diplomatic observer and adviser. You will be facing one of the most difficult and complex situations ever to confront an American naval officer. I have no doubt of your abilities as a naval officer, but this situation would daunt a man more than twice your years and experience.”
The ambassador turned to his son. “Henry, pack quickly.”
USS GETTYSBURG, KING’S DOCK, LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND, 8:35 AM, SEPTEMBER 3, 1863
Lamson and Porter were waiting for their guest to join them. They turned when they heard footsteps but only the cabin boy approached. “Well, where is he, Tom?”
“Sir,” the boy touched his knuckles to his cap diffidently, “I knocked and knocked on his cabin door and explained that the captain wanted him on bridge.”
“Yes?”
“And, sir, he just yelled at me and told me to go away.” The boy was scandalized that even a guest aboard the ship should treat the captain’s request so. “Three times I tried, sir, and I even opened the door a bit to peak in and tell him, but…”
“Yes?”
“He threw his chamber pot at me, Captain!”
Lamson stifled a laugh. Porter bit his lip and turned away. “Carry on, Tom.” The boy fled. “It seems, Mr. Porter, that our guest finds life at sea not to his taste.” They both laughed, looking out at the placid surface of King’s Dock. Lamson’s opinion of Henry Adams had reverted to his original impression on their early morning train ride to Liverpool. He did not know that a man could whine without interruption for so long. The complaints only let up when Adams turned to name-dropping in his obsession with English “society.” He had even found fault with his accommodations aboard ship. The USS Gettysburg’s origins as a mail packet had left her with a number of comfortable cabins, not all of which succumbed to the ship’s conversion for war. The best, of course, was the captain’s, but the executive officer’s was still handsome, and he had graciously given it up for the representative of the ambassador.