Burnished Rows of Steel: Chapter 1 (Parts iii-vi)
BURNISHED ROWS OF STEEL: A History of the Great War
By T.F. Smith
Copyright (c) 2013-2014 by the author. All rights reserved.
Chapter 1 – At Heaven’s Command
iii. No Peace at Christmas – December, 1861
Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,
Alles schläft; einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.
Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!
§ Einsam Wacht, Music: Franz Xaver Gruber, 1818; Words: Joseph Mohr, 1816/1818
The Executive Mansion
Washington City, District of Columbia
December 16, 1861
Rain slanted haphazardly against the windows; the gardens around the mansion were indistinct in the misty gloom, but the room, normally warm enough between the output from the central heating plant’s vents and the gas lights lining the walls, was almost stifling, John Hay thought.
With half a dozen men jammed into the president’s office, the temperature was enough that the 22-year-old Indianan would have shrugged out of his coat if he could have. Hay pulled at his collar, twisting his neck, until John Nicolay, six years older and the senior secretary, raised one eyebrow, ever so slightly.
“Keep taking notes,” Nicolay hissed, almost inaudibly.
Hay turned back to his pen and pad; Chase was still going on, not panicked but strident:
“I tell you, the bottom is about to fall out – our bonds are being dumped on the New York Exchange, the speculators are buying gold, saltpeter, and gunpowder, and there’s the beginning of a run,” Secretary of the Treasury Salmon P. Chase, 53, said, matter-of-factly.
“The December loan payment is in jeopardy, and both Barings and Rothschild’s have closed their doors,” the Ohioan said. “John Cisco wired me the 7-30s will fall even farther, especially if we have to suspend specie payments-”
The president broke in, gently but with a hint of exasperation coloring his usual good humor.
“There are those who will say the bottom is out of the tub, gentlemen, but if we have to suspend specie, we’ll issue paper, Chase, just like you’re already doing now with the Demand Notes – just like every government does when necessary, including the Continental dollars during the Revolution or the Small Treasury Notes during the last war with the British,” Lincoln said.
“Very well, Mr. President, but if I may - there are only three ways to finance a great war. First, we can raise taxes, on everything imaginable, including incomes; second, we can borrow through bonds, and my man Cooke is doing well selling those; and third, we issue paper. As you say, our country has done it before, and because of that experience, we know the impact it will have – bad money always drives out good,” Chase offered. “Everyone sees through them as a bad bet, compared to gold or even bonds, whether we call them “small” Treasury Notes or whatnot.”
Lincoln was quiet for a moment, and then came back at the issue himself:
“Then we can call them something else; Legal Tender Notes or something similar; but we can still print them. Col. Taylor sent me a cable from the Chicago Exchange suggesting just that; if Dick Taylor says Chicago is willing to accept it, then surely New York can as well.”
William Seward, the secretary of state, and at 60 the oldest man in the room, spoke up.
“Mr. President, New York will accept them – I’ve been in touch with Gov. Morgan, and he agrees. So does Wadsworth."
Chase huffed.
“Albany and the Genesee Valley do not make up for the City, Seward; Fernando Wood has friends in the Exchange-“
“As do we, Chase – Drexel, Morgan, Vanderbilt, and August Belmont are all staunch, and Belmont has connections with the Rothschilds and the Warburgs, for that matter. Peabody is active enough in the City of London; we still have friends there, they all know there’s a continent at our feet to issue bonds upon - and Weed, Scott, Archbishop Hughes, Bishop McIlvaine are there now, as well. Their mission will have an impact, on the French and the thoughtful ones in England,” Seward said. “And Fernando Wood? Fernando Wood be damned, along the rest of his Tammany crew.
“Damn it, the country is with us; most people think that combined with what happened at St. Albans, the British deserve what they get,” the New Yorker continued, pulling a newspaper from a pile of documents on the conference table. “What did the Times say? Here it is ‘…we do not believe the American heart has thrilled with more genuine delight then it did, at the information that Messrs. Slidell and Mason had been captured. If we were to search the whole of Rebeldom, no persons so justly obnoxious to the North, could have been found…as far as the British warship goes, the history of our two countries includes more than one such episode where an unwary arrogance led to the necessary response…” ”
“Yes, and that’s true enough for our people,” the Ohioan responded. “But it is also true for the British; between what they see as an insult to their flag in the first place, and then the action involving San Jacinto and Rinaldo, there are plenty of men in England calling for war…”
Montgomery Blair, the postmaster general and the only West Pointer (Class of 1835) in the room, broke in:
“Yes, and there are plenty of men here calling for it as well; you’d be amazed by some of the dough-faces who are ready to stand against the British, but were pleased as punch to stand by and let the South pull us apart,” the Marylander said, scowling. “Great Christ, if they’d have so resolute last year, we could have ended this then…but we don’t need to multiply our enemies. We need to give up the traitors. I’ll be damned if we should apologize for the Rinaldo, though.”
The president spoke up again.
“Enough, gentlemen – Seward, we have yet to hear from the British; I expect Lord Lyons will bring us the news from Russell and Palmerston as soon as he gets it,” the chief executive said. “I am afraid Mason and Slidell are white elephants; we must stick to American principles regarding the rights of neutrals. We fought Great Britain for insisting, in theory and in practice, on the right to do precisely what Captain Wilkes has done. So, just like the Postmaster-General, I’m afraid we’ll have to give them up.
“As far as the Rinaldo goes, look, one war at a time is more than enough for me, despite all the aid the British have given the rebels, and all the blockade runners the British have winked at since Fort Sumter…frankly, I’m of a mind to tell them to go hang, but that’s not very diplomatic of me, is it, Seward? That’s why we have the Secretary; he gets along so well with the British…”
The men in the room laughed, the tension broken; Seward’s fondness for anti-British rhetoric as a tool in New York politics was well-known. Yet he was astute, well-educated, well-travelled, and quite capable of wrapping a message in all the diplomatic niceties necessary, Hay thought. And if he had stayed home in 1859, rather than traveling to Europe, Seward might have been president, and not Lincoln, the secretary thought…Hay dipped his pen as the president spoke again:
“Mr. Secretary, draft a memorandum with some recommended language for us to provide to Lord Lyons, and we’ll consider it when the word comes in from London, and decide then. Chase, start working up a bill for legal notes; use Dick Taylor’s letter as a basis, and talk with the right people in New York and Philadelphia to prepare the ground. Keep it quiet, however.”
Lincoln looked at Hay, who had finished scribbling and was fanning himself with a folded envelope. The room was even warmer than it had been.
“Nic, I think we may need to repair to a larger room for the next Cabinet meeting – perhaps the Green Room, or even the East Room. And maybe some pitchers of iced water – Mrs. Lincoln says the water out at Soldiers’ Home is much better than here in the city; that’s part of why she and the boys are out there…Please make a note of that,” said Lincoln, before nodding toward Hay.
“So, from Fortuna and Mercury, let us go to Neptune and Mars. John, can you see if Mr. Cameron and Mr. Welles are here yet? I’d like to know what the latest is from the Army and Navy…and to see what the Secretary hears from the general-in-chief, since he seems to have taken to bed after the grand review…”
As Hay left the office, the conversation continued.
“Yes, and a general-in-chief in a sick bed is no more a general-in-chief than I am…,” Blair commented.
“There is that, Monty,” the president replied, quietly. “We may have to change that…”
The doors closed.
===================================
Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules
Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these.
But of all the world's great heroes, there's none that can compare.
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadiers.
Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball,
Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal.
But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears,
Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.
- Author unknown
Waterloo Bridge Station
London, England
December, 1861
The London & Southwest train was a special, one of four chartered by the Secretary of State for War to move elements of the two Guards battalions that had been ordered to Nova Scotia because of the Rinaldo-San Jacinto incident. The provisional brigade, made up of the 1st battalions of the Grenadiers and Scots Fusiliers, respectively, was to be commanded by Maj. Gen. Lord Frederick Paulet, CB; his brigade major was Col. T.M. Steele, of the Coldstreams, and an aide-de-camp to Her Royal Highness. The 1st Battalion, Grenadier Guards, was commanded by Col. Hon. H.H. Manvers Percy, VC, while the 1st Battalion, Scots Fusilier Guards, was led by Col. Francis Seymour, CB. Everyone involved, officers and men, clad in scarlet tunics under heavy grey wool winter overcoats, had formed up quietly and efficiently by company and were and filing into the carriages. Other soldiers held back the crowd, which was surprisingly quiet; other regiments, in other stations, or at other posts, would have had singing along with the regimental band’s music, and there would have been the hubbub of a crowd of wives and children to see them off; not the Guards. After the Guards band had finished and broken down their instruments, other than the noise of the train’s locomotive, a 2-4-0 in the L&SW’s black, scarlet, and buff livery, and an occasional order, the platforms were as quiet as they ever could be.
Except for a small knot of three men in front of the last car before the goods wagons; while the rest of the train was made up of standard L&SW carriages in Indian red, with black paneling, the final carriage was a simple black, but gleamed with varnish.
Among the crowd of Guards officers was a slender, older man, in a light grey civilian coat; he was addressing a full colonel in the uniform of the Grenadier Guards, a stout man with a trim mustache and a wine-red ribbon on his left breast. A third officer, a Guards captain who resembled a younger version of the first and wore the Sebastopol medal and clasp, and the Turkish medal, stood to one side.
“Colonel, I would appreciate it if Jonny and I could ride in my departmental car, from here to Southampton; his mother could not bring herself to come to the station, and I have a few words I would like to share with him,” the older man, more than a decade the senior of the colonel, stated quietly. “As you know, he has been down this trail before, but his service in the Crimea predated some family issues that have since arisen; I would truly appreciate this matter, Colonel Percy.”
The colonel was silent for a moment and then spoke; he was unsure what the “family issues” were, but in any English noble family, they could only be code for something better left unsaid in public.
“My Lord, it would be my pleasure, and will not reflect upon the captain – he will have plenty of time to spend with the battalion on the passage over,” the Guards battalion commander said. “As we all will; the Navy has yet to tell us what ship we will be aboard; apparently the one they thought they had chartered for us, the Adriatic, turns out to be an American. Left yesterday with a load of saltpeter, apparently.”
The civilian started.
“Colonel, that is disappointing to hear; the Cabinet heard an Order in Council just last week that all exportation of arms and munitions was to be prohibited, in view of the current crisis,” he said. “There were some who protested because they fear it will reduce our arms trade, but I presume you all would prefer that if we are to be at war, it is as well not to let them have improved items to shoot at you with…how did that happen, have you heard?”
“Apparently their agents argued that since the shipment had already been approved, and is supposed to be ultimately delivered to the Argentine, it was unlawful to prohibit the shipment, and someone at the Customs House agreed,” Manvers Percy replied, evenly. “Presumably with the attention of the government on the Prince Consort’s funeral, certain communications were set aside. Seems as if it is ever thus, when we begin an expedition. There was certainly worse than before we left for the Black Sea during the last war.”
The locomotive’s whistle blew.
“My Lord, I would suggest you and Captain Stanley board your carriage, as I must board mine; time and tide waits for no one,” the colonel said, turning away. “By your leave, sir.”
“Quite, colonel…quite,” replied Edward Stanley, 2nd Baron Stanley of Alderly and Postmaster General in the Palmerston government. “Jonny, we’re off.”
==============
By the time the two men were settled in the special Post Office carriage, the troop train was speeding down the track towards Southampton. The Stanleys, father and son, each accepted a cup of tea from the steward hovering silently at the servants’ station in the carriage, and then sat back, watching southern England flash by. At this rate, barring stops, the train could be at Southampton in a few hours, and the Stanleys had much to talk about.
“Father, is Henry truly going through with it?” Captain the Honorable John Constantine “Jonny” Stanley, lieutenant and captain, Grenadier Guards, asked. “Becoming a Mahommedan? And marrying that Spanish woman?”
Lord Stanley was pained. At 59, he was more than twice the age of his 24-year-old son the Guards officer, but these days, despite never having been a soldier, he felt they had more in common than either did with his oldest son and heir, Henry Edward John Stanley. Henry, at 34 was displaying all the eccentricities of his mother, who although born in Nova Scotia to a noble English family of Catholic ancestry, had lived on the Continent much of her life and showed it. Henrietta, Lady Alderly, was always downright, free from prudery, and quite eighteenth-century rather than Victorian in her conversation. Her French and Italian were faultless, her husband reflected; she has more in common with Henry than I do. How that could impact the family name, however, was his concern.
“Jonny, your mother and I will cope with Henry’s issues; but that is part of why I wanted to ride with you today,” the elder man said. “If he dies without issue, you are next in line. Before I say anything else, I will say this: you have always done your duty to your sovereign and your country, and to the Guards. Do not let that change – but understand that I need you. Your older brother has his eccentricities, and Edward and Algernon each have issues within their make-ups; Edward is a liberal nonpareil, and Algernon is presumably destined for the church – or at least some church. You are the best man of my sons for the title.”
The captain breathed deeply. This was a side of his father rarely seen, but the old man must really be concerned; they had both seen too many old families of upstanding names collapse due to an heir who ended badly. As an example, there were rumors already about what had led to the death of the Prince Consort, and why the Prince of Wales had suddenly been sent off to the Mediterranean for a royal tour.
“What would you have me do, sir?” Jonny Stanley asked. “Hold back? Ask for duty elsewhere than with my battalion?”
His father sighed. This would not be easy, he thought; there was a reason his son wore the Sebastopol medal and its clasp. In some ways, as painful as it was, the older man was proud.
“No, I’m not, but you and I both know the Army is not your career; second sons have to go into the service, but they don’t have to stay there,” the elder man said. “There are always men spoiling for a fight in war; like that fellow Colley you told me about, who threw over the Staff College to go to Canada on his own – and that’s fine, that’s why we have Army officers. ‘A bloody war, and a sickly season,’ and all that.
But you don’t need to earn the Victoria Cross, especially in a cause as frankly as confused as this. I was President of the Board of Trade under Palmerston in ’55, and served under Russell in the Foreign Affairs ministry from ’46 to ’52…I saw how we came to be at war with the Russians, and as much of a mess that was, but there was a reason for it: the Russian threat to the Mediterranean. It was a mess, and we had to try and recruit Germans and Italians and Swiss to keep the Army at strength, and we spent money we could ill-afford, but that war made sense. What we are drifting toward now pales in comparison…”
The younger man broke in:
“Surely you agree we have to protect our flag, especially at sea, against the likes of the Americans, and anyone else – and when they don’t just stop a Royal Mail ship, but fire upon a Royal Navy warship! How can we stand for it?”
“I agree we have to do something about it, Jonny, but we could simply declare we are going to call in some of their loans in the City and they’d agree to a settlement quickly enough; as far as the martyrship of `the dashing Hewett,’ he was typical naval officer – more courage and greed than brains and sense. We have hundreds of them, true?” the baron said dismissively.
“And our erstwhile allies, the southerners? Farmers and planters, without any money, without anything in sufficient supply but cotton that we don’t need and arrogance we don’t want? We have enough of that, in spades…The southerners would fit in with the cavaliers, well enough, but that was two centuries ago…” the elder Stanley said. “Do you understand we are drifting toward war with a free people, on the part of a people who not only embrace slavery, but want to expand it? I’m no supporter of Cobden and Bright, but does that appeal to you as a cause worth ruining our relations with the Americans over? That even if we `win” something on the battlefield, will only lead to decades of recrimination and a constant threat of another war?”
There was silence for a moment, as the younger man digested this.
“Well, we have to protect Canada, and our other colonies in British North America,” the captain began slowly.
I have to remember he is only 24, the father thought.
“Jonny, half of Canada is French, and they would as soon knife you in the back as cheer “God Save the Queen,” Stanley said. “The rest are farmers and merchants that are poorer than those in the States, including the people your mother grew up with, and they cannot provide England anything more than timber, fur, and fish. Not to mention the Canadian border is more than 1,500 miles long, thinly fortified and connected by only the most basic roads and waterways; and even if the Navy sweeps the Federal fleet from the seas, and blockades their cities on the Atlantic, and burns New York to the ground, we cannot garrison and hold 350,000 square miles of rugged country. We could not do it in 1780, and we could not do in 1815. And we cannot do it today, not with every battalion in Britain and Ireland, and most of those from the Caribbean and the Mediterranean as well – and God knows, we can’t rely on the Irish or the West Indian regiments in a war like this. And not when more than a third of the Army is in India, and the rest spread from New Zealand to Jamaica…and in the middle of winter.”
The train bucketed along; rain was starting to fall. The countryside, a mix of towns and villages built of slate gray stone broken up by glimpses of green fields, was disappearing into the fog of an English winter. The captain spoke again:
“Father, I agree the strategic difficulties are indeed, formidable; but we have our regular forces, the militia from Canada, and surely after the Convention of London last year, the agreement with the French and Spanish signed-“ he started.
“The French and Spanish? Ho, Gods above, Jonny…the French have their hands full in Italy, with the Italians, the Pope, and the Austrians, and glowering at the Prussians,” the baron responded. “What they want, what they really want, and why they signed the agreement in London, is a free hand in Mexico…Napoleon has delusions of grandeur, as all Frenchmen do, despite your mother’s beliefs, and the Spanish? They are equally delusional…”
His son was silent for a moment. The father continued:
“Look, Jonny, the cabinet has met on this repeatedly; Seymour says the Navy is ready, but he always says that…Cornewall-Lewis has brought it before us. He has called in Earl de Grey and Cambridge; Lord Seaton, who had been commander-in-chief in Canada during the ’37 rebellion; General Burgoyne, the inspector general of fortifications; and Colonel Macdougall, formerly of the Royal Canadian Rifles and lately the first commandant of the staff college … and after much cogitation, it comes down to the fact that the Americans have 22 millions of people to form an army upon, and we don’t – not in North America,” Stanley said. “We only have three millions, and a third of them are French, and, as of a few days ago, the grand total of firearms that can be provided to the militia – if they come out - amount to fifteen thousand rifles and ten thousand muskets in the Province of Canada, and thirteen thousand rifles and seven thousand five hundred smoothbores in the Maritime colonies. The Americans have raised a half of a million men since April; we’re sending 11,000 regulars, including your battalion, in this contingent, which may or may not even be able to make it to Quebec, given the time of year.”
His son, although a trained officer and a veteran, was silent again, as the realities of what his father had said sank in.
“So why are we doing this?” the captain asked, almost in a whisper.
“Because the Prince is dead and the Queen is in mourning; because Pam is 77 years old and still thinks he is Lord Cupid and that ‘he’ll be damned if we stand for this’; also because Pam thinks gunboat diplomacy solves all, and that the Americans can be overawed like the Chinese or overcome like the Russians; and because Russell and Gladstone are both waiting for him to trip over this from within the Government, and Disraeli is waiting from outside; and because at the moment, men like Lewis and myself can’t stop him,” the baron said. “That’s why. All I am asking, Jonny, is to be cautious. That’s all.”
The train was slowing; Southampton Station lay ahead, and the Atlantic, and America.
The captain turned to his father.
“I’ll try, sir,” he said flatly. “It goes against my nature, but I’ll try.”
The whistle screamed, and the train came to a stop.
===================================================
For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?
1 Corinthians 14:, King James Version
The Executive Mansion
Washington City, District of Columbia
December 27, 1861
The East Room – which some wit, probably Hay, had immediately dubbed “the war room” - was vastly more comfortable than the president’s office, Nicolay thought. As well it should be, the senior private secretary considered; there were two dozen men working in the room, mostly in Army blue, at desks or placing string and paper tags on the maps that covered the walls. Two telegraphists were huddled in a corner, bent over their devices of wood and metal, one tapping away and the other writing in a message book.
“Quite the contrast with a week ago,” Hay, who shared the desk adjacent to the empty one reserved for the president. “The tycoon can get results when he wants them…”
“John, what was it that Seward said when the British note came in? `The prospect of being hanged focuses the mind wonderfully’, “ Nicolay said idly. “That has certainly come true here…although having Blair and Cameron swap ‘round, and Blair bringing Stanton in, and Stanton bring Mansfield in, hasn’t hurt…”
“Except I think it was Boswell, originally; something like `depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged in a fortnight, it concentrates his mind wonderfully,’ “ Hay, irrepressible, interjected. “Not surprised you didn’t get it; I went to Brown, sir!”
“Oh shut up, John,” Nicolay, who had been educated privately, said with a quick grin, as the doors opened, and Ward Lamon marched in ahead of the president, with the cabinet behind. “Oh, here they are…”
Several men stood up from their desks, while those in uniform braced; Lincoln waved at them.
“At ease, gentlemen, at ease – keep working; we have some decisions to chew over, but I expect if the general doesn’t want you here at the moment, we can clear you out – general?” Lincoln turned to a wintry-looking soldier, white-haired, ramrod-straight and with a major-general’s two stars on his shoulders. “Anyone here who should not hear what needs to be said? We’ll be announcing it to the world in a few hours, after all.”
The officer, Major General Joseph King Fenno Mansfield, had graduated second in his class from West Point back in 1822, well before some of the younger men in the room had been born. After two decades of study and service as an officer of engineers, and three brevets for gallantry in the Mexican War, he had been named Inspector General of the regular army in 1853, and commander of the Military District of Washington in 1861 by Lincoln, where Mansfield had promptly ordered the occupation of Alexandria and points south of the Potomac; when Lt. Gen. Scott had retired in October, he had suggested Mansfield as his replacement, before leaving on his European mission. With McClellan’s illness in November, Mansfield had been an obvious choice for consideration as his acting replacement; when the British demands in response to the Rinaldo-San Jacinto incident had been presented December 19, and McClellan was still white-faced and trembling in bed, Mansfield had been the obvious choice to replace him as general-in-chief, with McClellan remaining as commander of the Army of the Potomac.
Mansfield had rapidly surrounded himself with an excellent staff, including bringing Col. Ethan Allen Hitchcock (USMA, 1817), who had served as Scott’s inspector general in Mexico, back from retirement to serve as Mansfield’s chief of staff. Hitchcock, in turn, had asked for Lt. Col. Andrew A. Humphreys (USMA, 1831) who was serving as McClellan’s chief topographical engineer, to serve as assistant chief of staff. Humphreys, who as topographical engineer to the Army of the Potomac was well aware of the need for gathering intelligence, overtly and covertly, also had strong connections with the Navy. He recommended Mansfield’s staff absorb the existing Blockade Strategy Board, which had been formed earlier in the year to select the coastal anchorages and ports needed to sustain the Atlantic and Gulf blockading squadrons; Humphreys had also pushed for strong officers to serve as chiefs of planning and information for the Mansfield.
Those moves had brought Col. John G. Barnard (USMA, 1833) who had served on the Blockade Board, in as chief of plans; Maj. A.W. Whipple (USMA, 1841), another Topographical Engineer who had surveyed the U.S.-Canadian border prewar and who had been Humphreys’ predecessor with the field army in Virginia during the Bull Run campaign, served as his deputy. The need for information, about the rebels to the south and – potentially – the British to the north, suggested the assignment of the most senior member of the Army commission that had observed the British and French in the field during the Crimean War; Col. Richard Delafield (USMA, 1818) who had also served as superintendent of the Academy for 12 years and was the second most senior officer in the Corps of Engineers when war broke out. Delafield, in turn, has sought out then-retired Maj. Alfred Mordecai (USMA, 1823) who had served on the Crimean mission but had resigned from the Army in 1861 when the rebellion began, rather than fight in a Civil War. Mordecai was running a foundry in New York state when the crisis with the British began, but with a personal appeal by Delafield, and the approval of Lincoln, he had returned to the colors. Capt. William D. Whipple (USMA, 1851), who had escaped from Texas when the federal posts had been surrendered to the Texas rebels, had served as a divisional staff officer during Bull Run; he now served as Mansfield’s aide-de-camp.
All in all, it was an impressive group, and – in many ways – more reflective of the Old Army’s professionalism prior to McClellan’s appointment, now rescinded, as general-in-chief. Almost all were regulars, unlike the mix of regulars, volunteers, and Europeans that McClellan had brought forward, and two were veterans of European observation tours.
Hays and Nicolay, neither of whom were in uniform, were unabashed as Mansfield nodded curtly to Humphreys. The lean, hawk-nosed Philadelphian glanced about, meeting the eyes of every man in the room, and shook his head.
“General, every man here is loyal,” he said.
“Mr. President, there you have it,” Mansfield rumbled. “We can go on.”
“Gentlemen, seats,” the younger Whipple sang out; almost as a man, the officers in blue dropped into their chairs, ranked in lines in the center of the room. Ward Lamon, in union blue now as an officer of Maryland volunteers, indicated where the cabinet members should sit, and closed the doors to the East Room with a firm thump. With a revolver holstered at his side, Lt. Col. Lamon was the only man under arms in the room; he went to parade rest and stood in front of the doors. Nicolay knew that several trusted men, most of them from Col. Lafayette Baker’s provost marshal’s guard of loyal District residents, stood outside.
The civilians took their seats; only the president and Hays and Nicolay, ready at their desks to take notes, faced them; Mansfield and Whipple walked to the front of the room and stood behind the president. He has never looked graver, Hays thought, glancing to the left at the chief’s profile. Lincoln spoke:
“Mr. Seward.”
The Secretary of State stood.
“Mr. President, to review: the British note arrived at Lord Lyons’ at midnight Dec. 18; it was presented the next day. This note was predicated on the incident in the Bahama Channel, involving USS San Jacinto, HMS Rinaldo, and the merchant steamer Trent. It does not address the Coaticook Bridge incident, or the incident at St. Albans. Since its arrival, we have been considering how to respond, and our options. Essentially, the British have asked for the following:
First, the release of Mason, Slidell, and their staff;
Two, an apology and compensation for the seizure of the Trent;
Three, an apology and compensation for the damage to the British warship Rinaldo;
Four, the dismissal of Captain Wilkes from the naval service;
Fifth, agreement to British naval operations on the Gulf and South Atlantic coasts designed to prevent the recurrence of incidents such as that in the Bahama Channel; essentially, to oversee the declared blockade by the United States Navy of the ports currently occupied by the rebels. Any disputes to be handled by the nearest British Admiralty court, presumably in Bermuda for the South Atlantic ports and Kingston for the Gulf ports….”
“And?” Lincoln asked.
“Lord Lyons stressed to me this is not a declaration of war, but added that he has been instructed to depart from Washington for Quebec, by way of Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Albany, and Montreal, by the end of the day today, if he has not received word of our government’s acceptance of these terms. He also stressed to me that he does not believe word has reached London regarding the incident on the Coaticook River, and that as much as he appreciates the release of the Canadian militia, he expects the British soldiers to be returned north immediately. His exact words were, “it is superfluous for me to point out that this means war.”
“Thank you, Seward. You have done very well in trying times,” the president said. “Any word from our friends in Europe?”
“The last report I received is that Gen. Scott and Mr. Weed have been well-received in Paris; the general’s reminiscences about his service in Mexico have been very well received,” Seward responded, levelly. “They were to depart for Potsdam imminently; in addition, Brigadier General Harney has joined the delegation and was to leave for Petersburg the same day. I have yet to receive a report from Minister Schurz’ talks with the Spanish, of course; or from our emissaries to President Juarez. Admiral Joinville’s discussions with his friends to the north proceed apace.”
“Very well. Secretary Chase, how goes our finances?”
“They go, Mr. President. Not as well as I’d like, but the bill for the new notes should pass in the House and the idea is being accepted; our discussions in New York, Chicago, and Philadelphia have given fruit, and our conversations with the ministers from the Netherlands, the German states, Austria, and Russia have been well-received. The Germans, Austrians, and Russians all appreciate the ideas we have advanced regarding both collateral for bond sales and emigration…”
“Very well. Secretary Welles, the Navy?”
“The Navy is ready, sir; Capt. Fox, Capt. Davis, and Superintendent Bache – I beg your pardon, Major Bache – all deserve credit, as does Brigadier General Barnard, and, of course, the Army generally,” said Welles, who although not a naval officer, was a graduate of Norwich, the little military academy in Vermont that had become as well known in recent days as West Point and Annapolis.
“The transports that were being gathered for the Carolina and Gulf missions are being diverted; the flag officers all have been contacted with their instructions, including Montgomery, out at Mare Island. The new squadrons are being organized, as well, and the cruisers – including the steam frigates and first class sloops - are being fitted for their duties as they become available. We are also looking at the various small, special vessels that may be readied quickly, and cooperating with the appropriate Army officers. The surveys of additional vessels for the Western rivers and the Lakes are underway, and the vessels already being prepared for the Mississippi are being expedited.”
“And the new ironclads?” Lincoln asked.
“The two large broadside ships are under construction at Boston and Philadelphia; the two smaller ships, the small sloop at Mystic and the special ship at Greenpoint, are both well under way as well. The New York ship should be ready first; the constructors are also surveying the large hull in New York, but that vessel would require substantial re-design.”
“Mr. Welles, I understand. Secretary Blair, I appreciate the short period you have been in charge at the War Department; I expect our new Postmaster General has provided you with every assistance.”
Monty Blair looked like he was going to burst with the reference to Cameron, who everyone knew had had left the Department a shambles, Nicolay thought, but the Marylander choked it down.
“As much as can be expected, Mr. President,” Blair replied. “Mr. Stanton and Mr. Dana have been very busy…but we are getting things put to right. The general and his staff have been exemplary.”
“Thank you, Mr. Blair. Gen. Mansfield, we have already had your report from this morning, and we all appreciate the alacrity of you and the headquarter staff in getting things in motion; I trust Colonel Scott’s expertise has been as useful as you and Major Haupt thought it would be,” the president said. “I also appreciate your candor on the recruiting issues, and the decisions we have made about additional calls for troops. I will, of course, ask the general to repeat any details as needed during this meeting, but gentlemen, what I need now are for your views on what we discussed in the office upstairs to be expressed now, and now, and publicly.
This is the time, and that was a private meeting; I need to be able to go to Congress with unanimity from the Executive Branch. Mr. Nicolay, please record this. Mr. Vice President, your vote – yes or no to the question at hand.”
Hannibal Hamlin, who had been in Maine two days before on a recruiting drive, looked straight at Lincoln.
“Yes.”
“Mr. Bates?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Seward?”
“Yes, by God!”
“Mr. Chase?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Smith?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Mr. Cameron.”
“I vote yes, your excellency.”
“Mr. Welles?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Blair?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well, gentlemen. Nic, that’s seven yes votes from the Cabinet, plus that of the vice-president. It is unanimous. Our response to the British will be…no. We do not accept their demands. . .”
“I’ll see ‘em in hell, first!” Blair snarled. “The Army is ready.”
“I agree, gentlemen; if they want war, they can have it,” the president said. “This is a new era for us, gentlemen. I will not stand by and let them destroy our nation, covertly; they will make the choice, and they will fire the first shot – but we will not stand by as they threaten us with the slave power…”
He let that hang in the air a moment; the silence was absolute. Even the telegraph has stopped, Hay thought: this is history being made.
Lincoln pulled a notebook from the desk and opened it.
“I’d like to read a little something to you, gentlemen; Gen. Mansfield was kind enough to give it to me, on the recommendation of Major General Wool, actually, who should know – an analysis, so to speak, of our situation, from a very distinguished source:
Lincoln read:
"I confess that I think you have no right from the state of the war to demand any concession of territory from America. . .you have not been able to carry it into the enemy's territory, notwithstanding your military success and now undoubted military superiority, and have not even cleared your own territory of the enemy on the point of attack…You can get no territory; indeed the state of your military operations, however creditable, does not entitle you to demand any..."
That was Wellington, gentlemen, the Iron Duke himself, to Lord Liverpool in November, 1814. It is well worth remembering.”
(more to come)
