I dined with Mr. Seward—Mr. Raymond, of New York, and two or three gentlemen, being the only guests. Mr. Lincoln came in whilst we were playing a rubber, and told some excellent West-country stories. “Here, Mr. President, we have got the two Times—of New York and of London—if they would only do what is right and what we want, all will go well.” “Yes,” said Mr. Lincoln, “if the bad Times would go where we want them, good Times would be sure to follow.” Talking over Bull’s Run, Mr. Seward remarked “that civilians sometimes displayed more courage than soldiers, but perhaps the courage was unprofessional. When we were cut off from Baltimore, and the United States troops at Annapolis were separated by a country swarming with malcontents, not a soldier could be found to undertake the journey and communicate with them. At last a civilian”—(I think he mentioned the name of Mr. Cassius Clay)—“volunteered, and executed the business. So, after Bull’s Run, there was only one officer, General Sherman, who was doing anything to get the troops into order when the President and myself drove over to see what we could do on that terrible Tuesday evening.” Mr. Teakle Wallis and others, after the Baltimore business, told him the people would carry his head on their pikes; and so he went to Auburn to see how matters stood, and a few words from his old friends there made him feel his head was quite right on his shoulders.
November 15th.—Horse-dealers are the same all the world over. To-day comes one with a beast for which he asked £50. “There was a Government agent looking after this horse for one of them French princes, I believe, just as I was talking to the Kentuck chap that had him. ‘John,’ says he, ‘that’s the best-looking horse I’ve seen in Washington this many a day.’ ‘Yes,’ says I, ‘and you need not look at him any more.’ ‘Why?’ says he. ‘Because,’ says I, ‘it’s one that I want for Lord John Russell, of the London Times,’ says I, ‘and if ever there was a man suited for a horse, or a horse that was suited for a man, they’re the pair, and I’ll give every cent I can raise to buy my friend, Lord Russell, that horse.’” I could not do less than purchase, at a small reduction, a very good animal thus recommended.
November 16th.—A cold, raw day. As I was writing, a small friend of mine, who appears like a stormy petrel in moments of great storm, fluttered into my room, and having chirped out something about a “Jolly row”—“Seizure of Mason and Slidell”—“British flag insulted,” and the like, vanished. Somewhat later, going down 17th Street, I met the French Minister, M. Mercier, wrapped in his cloak, coming from the British Legation. “Vous avez entendu quelque chose de nouveau?” “Mais non, excellence.” And then, indeed, I learned there was no doubt about the fact that Captain Wilkes, of the U.S. steamer San Jacinto, had forcibly boarded the Trent, British mail steamer, off the Bahamas, and had taken Messrs. Mason, Slidell, Eustis, and M‘Clernand from on board by armed force, in defiance of the protests of the captain and naval officer in charge of the mails. This was indeed grave intelligence, and the French Minister considered the act a flagrant outrage, which could not for a moment be justified.
I went to the Legation, and found the young diplomatists in the “Chancellerie” as demure and innocent as if nothing had happened, though perhaps they were a trifle more lively than usual. An hour later, and the whole affair was published in full in the evening papers. Extraordinary exultation prevailed in the hotels and bar-rooms. The State Department has made of course no communication respecting the matter. All the English are satisfied that Mason and his friends must be put on board an English mail packet from the San Jacinto under a salute.
An officer of the United States navy—whose name I shall not mention here—came in to see the buccaneers, as the knot of English bachelors of Washington are termed, and talk over the matter. “Of course” he said, “we shall apologise and give up poor Wilkes to vengeance by dismissing him, but under no circumstances shall we ever give up Mason and Slidell. No, sir; not a man dare propose such a humiliation to our flag.” He says that Wilkes acted on his own responsibility, and that the San Jacinto was coming home from the African station when she encountered the Trent. Wilkes knew the rebel emissaries were on board, and thought he would cut a dash and get up a little sensation, being a bold and daring sort of a fellow with a quarrelsome disposition and a great love of notoriety, but an excellent officer.
November 17th.—For my sins I went to see a dress parade of the 6th Regular Cavalry early this morning, and underwent a small purgatory from the cold, on a bare plain, whilst the men and officers, with red cheeks and blue noses, mounted on horses with staring coats, marched, trotted, and cantered past. The papers contain joyous articles on the Trent affair, and some have got up an immense amount of learning at a short notice; but I am glad to say we had no discussion in camp. There is scarcely more than one opinion among thinking people in Washington respecting the legality of the act, and the course Great Britain must pursue. All the Foreign Ministers, without exception, have called on Lord Lyons—Russia, France, Italy, Prussia, Denmark. All are of accord. I am not sure whether the important diplomatist who represents the mighty interests of the Hanse Towns has not condescended to admit England has right on her side.
November 18th.—There is a storm of exultation sweeping over the land. Wilkes is the hero of the hour. I saw Mr. F. Seward at the State Department at ten o’clock; but as at the British Legation the orders are not to speak of the transaction, so at the State Department a judicious reticence is equally observed. The lawyers are busy furnishing arguments to the newspapers. The officers who held their tongues at first, astonished at the audacity of the act, are delighted to find any arguments in its favour.
I called at General M‘Clellan’s new head-quarters to get a pass, and on my way met the Duke of Chartres, who shook his young head very gravely, and regarded the occurrence with sorrow and apprehension. M‘Clellan, I understand, advised the immediate surrender of the prisoners; but the authorities, supported by the sudden outburst of public approval, refused to take that step. I saw Lord Lyons, who appeared very much impressed by the magnitude of the crisis. Thence I visited the Navy Department, where Captain Dahlgren and Lieutenant Wise discussed the affair. The former, usually so calm, has too much sense not to perceive the course England must take, and as an American officer naturally feels regret at what appears to be the humiliation of his flag; but he speaks with passion, and vows that if England avails herself of the temporary weakness of the United States to get back the rebel commissioners by threats of force, every American should make his sons swear eternal hostility to Great Britain. Having done wrong, stick to it! Thus men’s anger blinds them, and thus come wars.
It is obvious that no Power could permit political offenders sailing as passengers in a mail-boat under its flag, from one neutral port to another, to be taken by a belligerent, though the recognition of such a right would be, perhaps, more advantageous to England than to any other Power. But, notwithstanding these discussions, our naval friends dined and spent the evening with us, in company with some other officers.
I paid my respects to the Prince of Joinville, with whom I had a long and interesting conversation, in the course of which he gave me to understand he thought the seizure an untoward and unhappy event, which could not be justified on any grounds whatever, and that he had so expressed himself in the highest quarters. There are, comparatively, many English here at present; Mr. Chaplin, Sir F. Johnstone, Mr. Weldon, Mr. Browne, and others, and it may be readily imagined this affair creates deep feeling and much discussion.