In the separate dispatch marked “private and confidential,” however, Lyons admitted that he had been horrified by Seward’s mix of cynicism and naïveté. The secretary of state had tried to persuade him that there was enough federal patronage at his disposal to bribe the South back into the Union. As far as Seward was concerned, there was no need to discuss the international ramifications of the conflict because none existed. As long as there was no bloodshed, he told Lyons, the seceding states would eventually change their minds. Seward also repeated to him a recent conversation with the minister for Bremen (one of the smaller states of the German Confederation), “no doubt for my instruction.” The hapless diplomat had complained about the Republican Party’s election promise to place tariffs on foreign imports, saying that such a move would turn Europe against America at the moment when she most needed friends. Seward claimed to have replied that nothing would give him more pleasure, since he would then have the perfect excuse for an international quarrel, “and South Carolina and the seceding states would soon join in.” “I am afraid,” concluded Lyons, “that he takes no other view of Foreign Relations, than as safe levers to work with upon public opinion here.”14
A few days later, Lyons heard that Seward was trying to pass a message to him and the French minister that they should ignore anything he might say about either Britain or France, since underneath he had “the kindest motives towards the two countries.” Lyons thought that Seward’s visit to Britain the previous summer had given him not only a handful of fond memories but also the dangerous misconception “that England will never go to war with the United States” and therefore “could be safely played with without any risk.”15 Lord John Russell advised Lyons to be blunt with Seward: he should understand that England’s “forbearance sprung from a consciousness of strength, and not from the timidity of weakness.”16
On February 8, 1861, Henry Adams wrote to his brother that Seward was in high spirits “and chuckles himself hoarse with his stories. He says it’s all right. We shall keep the border states … the storm is weathered.” The next day in Montgomery, Alabama, the Provisional Congress of the Confederate States of America elected Senator Jefferson Davis—one of Seward’s closest Washington friends before the crisis—as provisional president. William Lowndes Yancey, the voice of secession, proclaimed memorably “that the man and the hour have met.” Davis was inaugurated on February 18. A future general in the Confederate army informed his wife that “the firm conviction here is that Great Britain, France and Russia will acknowledge us at once in the family of nations.”17 Davis placed so much confidence in the power of cotton that he appointed Yancey, who had never been abroad, to lead the Confederate diplomatic mission to Europe.
Seward was still offering deals to Southern negotiators, even though Confederate troops were threatening the tiny federal garrison at Fort Sumter in Charleston, when Lincoln arrived in Washington on February 23. Everything about the new president proclaimed his rusticity. The two years he had spent in Congress during the late 1840s appeared to have left him in the same unpolished state as when he first entered it. During Seward’s first private conversation with him, Lincoln admitted with startling candor that he had no idea about international relations, saying, “I shall have to depend upon you for taking care of these matters of foreign affairs, of which I know so little, and with which I reckon you are familiar.” More extraordinarily still, Lincoln showed Seward his inaugural address and invited him to give his comments.18 Less than a week before Lincoln’s arrival, Seward had insisted to the Bremen minister that the presidency was a matter of luck—rather like the monarchy—and no one took the officeholder seriously. “The actual direction of public affairs belongs to the leader of the ruling party here.”19 Seward was obviously referring to himself, as though he was expecting Lincoln to settle meekly into his role as the ceremonial leader of the country, leaving him in charge.
No matter how hard Seward argued and cajoled, however, Lincoln would not be swayed from his notion that he alone had the right to select the members of his cabinet. Nor did he accept Seward’s contention that the United States should abandon Fort Sumter rather than take a stand against Southern threats. Seward dared not reveal his promises to the Southern negotiators that Fort Sumter would not be reinforced. While Seward struggled to assert his will over Lincoln, the Northern Republicans in the Senate took advantage of the missing Southern politicians, who were free-traders to a man, to pass the Morrill Tariff on February 27. The protectionist bill placed high import duties on most imported manufacturing goods; since 40 percent of Britain’s export trade went to the United States, the effect of the tariff on Britain would be devastating. Its impact on international relations ought to have been of the highest priority to the State Department.3.1
Seward was bitterly disappointed by Lincoln’s refusal to alter his appointments to the cabinet. His dismay was not palliated by the fact that the six other members were either neutral toward the president or former rivals, and equally suspicious of one another. Three—Caleb Smith (Interior), Edward Bates (attorney general), and Simon Cameron (War)—were cool toward him. But the others—Salmon Chase (Treasury), Gideon Welles (Navy), and Montgomery Blair (postmaster general)—were outright enemies.3.2 Seward tendered his resignation on March 2. Lincoln calmly offered him the American legation in Britain as an alternative. He already had a second choice for secretary of state: William L. Dayton, the attorney general of New Jersey. “I cannot afford to let Seward take the first trick,” Lincoln explained to his private secretary. Furious at being outsmarted by the novice leader, Seward conceded defeat before Dayton could be alerted of his good fortune. He withdrew his resignation on March 4, and the unsuspecting Dayton was put down for London. But having lost the battle to keep some of his greatest enemies out of the cabinet, Seward became even more determined that no one should interfere with his conciliation strategy, and all through March he feverishly schemed and maneuvered behind Lincoln’s back.
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Among the diplomatic community in Washington, the main topic of conversation was whether the North would employ any commercial sanctions against countries doing business with the South. Lyons agreed with Lord John Russell that Britain’s commercial interests were paramount, but he also thought that it would be a calamity if the North forced the “maritime Powers of Europe to interfere” to protect their cotton supply since, in his view, the “stain of slavery” made the South “loathsome to the civilized world.”21
On March 20, Seward made another of his unscheduled visits to Lyons, this time to sound out the minister’s opinion on how the British would react if the North “interrupted” the South’s commerce. Realizing this meant a blockade of Southern ports, Lyons attempted a little bluster of his own and threatened point-blank that if the North recklessly deprived Britain of cotton, she would fight back, and “the most simple, if not the only way, would be to recognize the Southern Confederacy.” Recognition, in legal terms, meant granting the South the status of a sovereign country. The North would not only then suffer a psychological blow but might also find itself facing a united Europe that was prepared to protect the supply of cotton at the point of a gun.
Lyons was unaware that he had committed a grave error. He had given the impression to Seward, who thought that Lyons was too unimaginative to be bluffing, that Britain was looking for an excuse to recognize the South. Seward pretended that he agreed with Lyons’s position, a tactic he often employed when he wanted to buy time. According to Seward’s political philosophy, a frightened enemy was better than an untrustworthy friend. When he left the legation, it was to think about how to keep Britain at bay rather than how to help her avoid a disruption to her cotton industry.
The following day, Lyons gave a formal dinner that included Seward and the senior members of the diplomatic corps. Though Washington had not taken to the minister, it welcomed his copious champagne and French chef. The dinner itself passed without incident, but by the time the guests had moved to the drawin
g room, Seward was lubricated and loquacious. His gravelly voice suddenly rose above the gentle hum, causing Lyons to stop his conversation and turn around. He saw that Seward was having a heated discussion with the French and Russian ministers. Seward impatiently motioned him to join them.
“When I came up,” Lyons reported, “I found him asking M. Mercier [the French minister] to give him a copy of his instructions to the French Consuls in the Southern States.” Unsure whether Seward was mad or just grossly ignorant, the Frenchman retreated behind a veil of diplomatic coyness, assuring him that the instructions contained nothing more than an exhortation to protect French commerce while observing strict neutrality. Seward then repeated the demand to Lyons, who employed the same device. This was tantamount to poking a rhinoceros. Seward lost control of himself. According to witnesses, he accused Lyons of threatening him with Britain’s acknowledgment of the South. “Such recognition will mean war!” he is said to have shouted. “The whole world will be engulfed and revolution will be the harvest.”22 Lyons avoided being specific in his own report, merely saying that Seward had become “more and more violent and noisy,” so he had turned away, taking “a natural opportunity, as host, to speak to some of the ladies in the room.”23
The French minister, Henri Mercier, was a large, hearty figure who did not cave easily. He was sufficiently irritated by Seward’s badgering to suggest to Lyons that they obtain discretionary power from their governments to recognize the South whenever they saw fit. Lyons was appalled by the idea and persuaded Mercier that it would put them in considerable personal danger from Northern and Southern extremists. He proposed a different plan—that they keep to a unified policy at all times. Seward would be less ready to pick a quarrel if it meant engaging America in a battle of two against one, and he would never be able to use one country as his tool against the other. Mercier agreed. A few days later, Lyons heard that there had been a “stormy sitting of the Cabinet” on the day of his dinner and assumed this was the reason for Seward’s outburst.
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In only three weeks, Seward had changed from being the self-appointed “ruler” to the odd man out in Lincoln’s cabinet. He tried to maintain his old mastery while struggling to find a place in the new order. His ability to dictate to Lincoln had come down to thwarting Charles Sumner’s bid to become the minister to Great Britain. Seward managed to persuade Lincoln that Charles Francis Adams should have the post. William Dayton was once again moved around the checkerboard of patronage and given the Paris legation, despite being unable to speak French. It was a pyrrhic victory for Seward, however, since by staying in Washington, Sumner became the new chairman of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations. The post would give him great power and leverage against Seward, if he could change Lincoln’s impression of him as a pompous know-it-all. “Sumner,” Lincoln allegedly said after their initial meeting in late February, “is my idea of a Bishop.”24
Adams was no longer sure he wanted to be a minister when the telegram announcing his appointment arrived in Massachusetts. “The president had seemed so intent on the nomination of Dayton, that the news finally came on us like a thunderbolt,” recalled Charles Francis Jr. “My mother at once fell into tears and deep agitation; foreseeing all sorts of evil consequences, and absolutely refusing to be comforted; while my father looked dismayed. The younger members of the household were astonished and confounded.” Mrs. Adams was surprised, continued Charles Francis Jr.,
when presently every one she met, instead of avoiding a painful subject or commiserating her, offered her congratulations or expressions of envy. So she cheered up amazingly. As to my father, he had then lived so long in the atmosphere of Boston, that I really think the great opportunity of his life when suddenly thrust upon him caused a sincere feeling of consternation. He really felt that he was being called on to make a great personal and political sacrifice.25
Adams’s poor opinion of Lincoln had increased after the inauguration ball, when the president did not even pretend to recognize him. He traveled to Washington to accept his appointment in a state of deep pessimism. Breakfast with Seward on March 28 made him feel worse; “he spoke of my appointment as his victory,” complained Adams indignantly, “whilst he made a species of apology for the selection of Mr. Wilson which seemed to me a little lame.” Charles Wilson was to have the important post of legation secretary as compensation for missing out on the plum job of heading the Chicago Post Office, a position with a high salary and little responsibility.26 Seward admitted that the Illinois newspaper editor could hardly be less qualified or suited to work under Adams, but Lincoln had insisted on the move as a quid pro quo for replacing Dayton.
Seward accompanied Adams to the White House for his interview with Lincoln. Adams was shocked by the “ravenous crowd” of office seekers who milled around the building, blocking stairs and corridors.27 Inside Lincoln’s office they found the president in deep conversation with a congressman over other potential candidates to fill the much-discussed Chicago Post Office job. When Adams began to express his gratitude for the appointment to London, Lincoln hurriedly cut him short, saying it was all Seward’s doing. He then turned his back on Adams in order to engage Seward and the congressman in further discussion on “the Chicago case.” Adams waited, uncertain whether the conversation was over, until a gesture from Seward indicated he had been dismissed.28
Adams was insulted. “Such was his fashion of receiving and dismissing the incumbent of one of the two highest posts in the foreign service of the country!” he complained in his diary. Nor had he been invited to attend the first state dinner of the White House, taking place that night, a gross slight considering that Seward was bringing as his guest William Howard Russell of The Times, who had arrived in Washington shortly after Lincoln’s inauguration.
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The forty-year-old war correspondent William Howard Russell, known to his friends as Billy, was the most famous journalist in the world. His honest and searing reports during the Crimean War had made a heroine of Florence Nightingale as they had rocked the Aberdeen administration.
Russell was the ideal choice to represent The Times in the United States. Overeating and excessive drinking were his chief vices—especially drinking, which had grown worse as his wife, Mary, became increasingly frail and dependent on him. Their four older children were in boarding school, but Russell had left her nursing their four-month-old son, Colin, who seemed as weak and poorly as his mother. After saying goodbye, “I went to the station in a storm of pain,” Russell wrote in his diary, feeling guilty that the night before he had been enjoying himself at the Garrick Club, where the novelist William Makepeace Thackeray proposed a toast in his honor.29
The qualities that made Russell an unsatisfactory husband to Mary were precisely those that John Thadeus Delane, the editor of The Times, hoped would endear him to the Americans. Russell was at his happiest in company; over dinner his round face and bright blue eyes would come alive as he amused his listeners with witty observations and stories. He could converse easily with anyone, which Delane knew was a vital prerequisite for success in democratic America.
Although the circulation of The Times was small by U.S. standards, hardly more than 65,000, the paper’s influence was felt around the globe. Unlike its newer rivals, such as the Daily Telegraph and the Daily News, The Times, which was founded in 1785, had the financial resources to provide the latest news from distant countries. There were many who resented its power: “What an absurd position we are in, so completely dictated to and domineered by one newspaper,” complained the MP Richard Cobden, who was nevertheless grateful when, in April 1859, a fellow passenger on a Mississippi steamboat, Senator Jefferson Davis, had offered to share his copy with him.
William Howard Russell soon discovered that celebrity in America had its drawbacks. A drunken night at the Astor Hotel with the Friendly Society of St. Patrick made the front pages. Apparently—since he could not remember the evening’s events—Russell had made a rousing speec
h in favor of the Union. He confessed in his diary: “O Lord, why did I do it?” When Delane learned of the episode, he asked him the same question. English writers had a poor reputation in the South for coming “with their three p’s: pen—paper—prejudices.”30 Russell had jeopardized the paper’s credibility and his own, which was not as high in America as he had assumed.31 “I should imagine that you must be very perplexed in England,” a British immigrant in New York remarked to his relatives. “The idea is somewhat amusing to us here that Mr. Russell should be sent over specially to report on American politics, as we are perfectly confident no novice could possibly be acquainted with the ins and outs, schemes, shifts and knaveries of this glorious disunion.”32
During his journey to Washington in March, Russell had shared a railway carriage with Henry Sanford, the new American minister to Belgium. They talked at great length; Russell had no idea that he was conversing with the future head of the U.S. secret service in Europe. Sanford, on the other hand, grasped Russell’s usefulness to the North and invited him to dine with Seward and his friends that evening. Seward dominated the dinner with his jokes and confidential anecdotes, giving Russell the opportunity to study him at length. He liked the way Seward’s eyes twinkled when he talked, although he suspected it was from self-importance rather than kindliness. Seward strutted as though he was “bursting with the importance of state mysteries, and with the dignity of directing the foreign policy of the greatest country—as all Americans think—in the world.”33
A World on Fire: Britain's Crucial Role in the American Civil War Page 11