“I agree with you completely,” Gideon Welles said. “As Secretary of the Navy I was charged with capturing these traitors before they could do harm to our country. Acting in the finest tradition of this service Captain Wilkes did just that. The American people consider him a hero and have been feting him with honors. Do we turn their joy to Dead Sea ash at the command of a foreign power? Do we knuckle under to threats and commands to our sovereign state? Do we betray this great sailor’s labors in his country’s cause? The public and the newspapers would not permit it. I say that we should not, will not, and cannot!”
“I would go even beyond that,” Seward said. “As Secretary of State I have long suggested the possibility of a diversionary foreign war to reunite this divided country. Now we have one being forced upon us and we would be wise not to oppose it.”
Lincoln shook his head. “I have never agreed with you on this matter, as you know. Even if we consider the possibility, I find that going to war with some small Central American country is a far different matter from being involved in a war with a powerful country that is supported by a world-spanning Empire. We must find better reasons than this if we are to halt a spreading fire of hatred.”
Voices were raised in anger and only Lincoln grew silent. He listened to what was being said until he had heard the opposing arguments in greatest detail. Only then did he speak.
“Gentlemen — I regret to say that we have reached a stalemate. If I were to take a vote now on a course of action, by my observation we would be a house divided. But we must be unanimous in our decision. Therefore I suggest a compromise. We will send a message to the British that we will not be bullied. We will tell them that we appreciate their position and respect it. We will consider releasing those men to continue their voyage — but only if the threats and commands are removed from their dispatch. We will suggest that Lord Palmerston meet with Charles Adams, our much-respected minister in London, in a concerted effort to reach agreement on the wording. If this is done, honor will be served and peace confirmed. What say you to this proposal?”
Stanton hurried to speak as other voices were raised. “I for one say yes. A copy of our message should go to Adams as soon as possible, along with various drafts and proposals that we here do agree to. War will be averted and honor saved. Let us subscribe to this proposal with a single voice — then return to our loved ones on this most sacred of family days.”
One by one the doubters were convinced, drawn to a mutual and satisfactory conclusion.
“A day’s work well done,” Lincoln said, smiling for the first time this day. “Hay and Nicolay will draw up the documents and present them to us tomorrow morning for approval. I am sure that this compromise will satisfy all the parties concerned.”
Lord Lyons, the British representative in the American capital, glowered at the communication and was not satisfied in the slightest. He stood at the window staring out in anger at the frozen and repellent landscape and the endless falling snow. This response was neither flesh nor fowl nor good red herring. It neither accepted nor rejected the ultimatum. Instead it suggested a third and contentious rejoinder. However, since the demands had not been rejected out of hand, he could not hand over his passports as he had been ordered to do. The matter was still far from being settled. He must present this response to Lord Palmerston and could already feel that individual’s wrathful reaction. He rang for his servant.
“Pack my bags for a sea voyage.”
“You will remember, sir, you asked me to do that some days ago.”
“Did I? By Jove I do believe that you are right. Did I not ask you as well to keep record of ship movements?”
“You did indeed, your Lordship. There is a Belgian barque, the Marie Celestine, now taking on cargo in the port of Baltimore. She will be departing for the port of Ostend in two days time.”
“Excellent. I will take the cars to Baltimore in the morning. Arrange it.”
He must return to London at once; he had no other choice. But there was the ameliorating factor that at least he would be out of this backwoods capital and, for a time at least, in the clement city at the heart of the mightiest Empire on earth. One whose drastic displeasure these frontiersmen must be ready to surfer if their truculence prevailed.
Lord Lyons was indeed correct, at least about the weather in Britain. It was a weak and watery sun which shone on London this same December day — but at least it shone. Charles Francis Adams, the United States Ambassador to the Court of St. James, was happy to be outdoors and away from the endless paperwork and the smoky fires. The servants in the homes he passed must have been up at dawn to sweep and wash the Mayfair pavements: the walk was a pleasant one. He turned off Brook Street and into Grosvenor Square, climbed the familiar steps of number 2 and tapped lightly on the door with the handle of his walking stick. The manservant opened it and ushered him through to the magnificent sitting room where his friend awaited him.
“Charles — how kind of you to accept my invitation.”
“Your invitation to dine with you, Amory, was as a rainbow from heaven.”
They were close friends, part of the small number of Americans resident in London. Amory Cabot was a Boston merchant who had made his fortune in the English trade. He had been a young man when he had first come to this city to represent the family business. The temporary position had become permanent when he had married here, his wife a member of a prominent Birmingham manufacturing family. Now, alas, his wife was dead, the children far from the family seat. But London was his home and Boston a distant part of the world. Now in his eighties, he watched his business with a benign eye and let others do the hard work. While devoting most of his attention to whist and other civilized diversions. The servants brought pipes and mulled ale as the friends talked idly. Only when the door had closed did Cabot’s features darken with worry.
“Is there any new word of the crisis?”
“None. I do know that the newspapers and public opinion at home is still very firm on the matter. The traitors are in our hands and there they must stay. Setting them free would be unthinkable. There has been no response from Washington as yet to the Trent memorandum. My hands are tied — there is nothing that I can do on my own — and I have no instructions. Yet still this crisis must be averted.”
Cabot sighed. “I could not agree more. But can it be done? Our countrymen are incensed but, as you well know, matters are no better here in London. Friends I have known for years shut their doors to me, harden their faces should we meet. I’ll tell you something — it is like the War of 1812 all over again. I was here then as well, kept my head down and rode it out. But even then most of my friends and associates did not turn on me as they are doing now. They felt that war had been forced upon them and they fought it with great reluctance. Why a few, the more liberal of them, even sympathized with our cause and thought it to be a singularly stupid war. Not brought about by circumstance but by arrogance and stupidity. No shortage of that at any time. But it is far different now. Now the anger and hatred are fierce. And the newspapers! Did you read what the Times wrote?”
“Indeed I did, the so-called ‘City Intelligence.’ Said outright that Lincoln and Seward were attempting to hide the spectacle of their internal condition by embarking on a foreign war. Utter hogwash!”
“As indeed it is. But the Daily News is even worse. They write that all Englishmen believe that Seward, in some manner they did not reveal, had arranged the entire Trent Affair himself.”