“Noted,” Fairfax said turning his back on the man, treating the captain just as he had been treated.
Heavy boots slammed on the decking as the blue-clad marines scrambled aboard.
“Right shoulder . . . shift!” the sergeant bellowed and the muskets slammed into position.
“Sergeant, have your men fix their bayonets,” was Fairfax’s next command. He needed as strong a show of force as possible, hoping to avoid any untoward incidents this way. The sergeant shouted the commands and sharp steel glittered in the sunlight. The watching sailors shuffled back at the sight of it: even the captain was silent now. Only the Southern passengers who had now come on deck displayed their feelings.
“Pirates!” one of the men shouted as he shook his fist. “Murderous Yankee bastards.” Others joined the shouting and started forward.
“Stop there!” Lieutenant Fairfax ordered. “Sergeant—have your men prepare to fire if these people get any closer.”
This threat damped down the Southern enthusiasm. There were muttered complaints as they moved slowly back from the leveled bayonets. Fairfax nodded.
“See you stay that way. I’ll take the corporal and two men below, Sergeant.”
Marine boots thundered on the steps, stamped down the passageway. Fairfax led them forward, pointed to the cabin door.
“Use your musket butt, Corporal. Don’t break it down yet—but I damn well want them to know that we are here.”
Once, twice, thrice, the butt slammed thunderously on the thin wood before Fairfax waved him aside, called out loudly.
“I have armed marines here and they will do their duty if this door is not unlocked at once. I understand there are women in there so I do not wish to use violence. But I will use force to enter this cabin—if the door is not unsealed instantly. The choice is yours.”
The heavy breathing of the waiting men was the only sound to break the silence. Fairfax felt his patience was at an end and had just opened his mouth to give the order when there was a rattling at the door. It opened a scant inch—then stopped.
“Ready your weapons,” Fairfax ordered. “Use them only if we meet resistance. Follow me.” He threw the door wide and went in. Halted abruptly at the sound of the shrill screaming.
“Stop right there!” the angry woman called out, holding the three girls to her ample bosom. A boy was at her side, shivering with fear.
“I mean you no harm,” Fairfax said. The screaming died away to mournful sobbing. “Are you Mrs. Slidell?” Her answer was only a quick, angry nod. He looked about the luxurious cabin, saw the other door and pointed toward it. “It is your husband I wish to address. Is he there?”
John Slidell had his ear pressed hard against the panel in the door. He turned as there was a soft knock on the door across the cabin from him that led to the companionway. He hurried to it, whispered hoarsely.
“Yes?”
“It’s us, John—unlock this thing at once.”
Mason pushed his way in, Eustin and Macfarland hurrying after him. “What is happening?” Mason asked.
“They are inside with my family. A naval officer, armed marines, we delayed them as long as we could. The papers . . . ?”
“Are in safe hands. Your delaying action was vital for our one small victory in this battle at sea. The Mail Officer, a retired Royal Navy commander as I told you, has taken the papers under his personal control. Locked them away and says he will not take out the key to his safe until he sees England’s shores. He even said that threat of death itself would not sway him. Our papers are as safe as the letters in the Royal Mail.”
“Good. Let us go in there now. My family has suffered enough indignity as it is.”
The sobbing died away when the connecting door opened. A marine pointed his bayonet and stepped forward; Lieutenant Fairfax waved him back.
“There is no need for violence—as long as the traitors obey orders.”
Fairfax watched coldly as the four men entered the room. The first man through called out to the huddle of women.
“L’est-ce que tout va bien?”
“Oui, ça va.”
“Are you John Slidell?” Lieutenant Fairfax said. His only answer was a curt nod. “Mr. Slidell it is my understanding that you have been appointed as the special Rebel commissioner to France . . .”
“Your language is insulting, young man. I am indeed a member of the government of the Confederacy.”
The lieutenant ignored his protestations, turned to the other politician. “And you will be James Murray Mason sent to the United Kingdom on the same mission. You will both accompany me, your assistants as well . . .”
“You have no right to do this!” Mason boomed out.
“Every right, sir. You as a former member of the American government know that very well. You have all rebelled against your flag and country. You are all traitors and are all under arrest. You will come with me.”
It was not an easy thing to do. Slidell had an endless and emotional conversation in French with his Louisiana Creole wife, filled with tearful interruptions by his daughters. Their son fell back against the wall, pale and trembling, looking ready to faint. Mason made a thundering protest that no one listened to. The matter continued this way until almost an hour had passed and there was still no end in sight. Fairfax’s anger grew until he shouted aloud for silence.
“This most grave matter is descending into a carnival and I will not allow it. You will all follow my orders. Corporal— have your marines accompany these two men, Eustin and Macfarland, to their cabins. There they will each pack one bag of their clothing and possessions and will be taken on deck at once. Have them ferried across to the San Jacinto . When the boat returns the other prisoners will be waiting on deck.”
The logjam was broken—but it was mid-afternoon before the transfers were completed. Mason and Slidell were escorted up to the deck, but would not leave the ship until all their personal effects were packed and brought to them. In addition to their clothes they insisted upon taking the thousands of cigars that they had purchased in Cuba. While these were being transferred Captain Moir insisted that they would need dozens of bottles of sherry, pitchers and basins and other conveniences of the toilet that would not be found aboard a man-of-war. There was even more delay as these items were found and brought on deck.
It was after four in the afternoon before the prisoners and their belongings had been transferred to the San Jacinto. The warship raised steam and turned west toward the American shore.
When Captain Moir on the Trent had seen his remaining passengers safely in their cabins he mounted to the bridge and ordered his ship under way again. The American warcraft was only a dot on the horizon now and he had to resist the urge to shake his fist in her direction.
“This has been a bad day’s work,” he said to his first officer. “England will not be humiliated by this rebellious colony. Something has begun here that will not be easily stopped.”
He did not realize how very prophetic his words would prove to be.
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 abs
olute 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.”
PRESIDENT LINCOLN
“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 trouble-makers 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 no
t. 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.”
Stars & Stripes Forever Page 2