A World on Fire: Britain's Crucial Role in the American Civil War (54 page)

Hotze naturally gave the protest meetings great prominence in his new weekly, the
Index.
He had started the journal at the end of April with the help of donations from friends in order to have his own vehicle for reporting Anglo-American matters. It was designed to be cosmopolitan and worldly, as though its Southern sympathies were an inconsequential and harmless feature rather than the sole raison d’être of the paper. Hotze explained to a potential writer that for the
Index
to be respectable it had “to be tolerant and yet not indifferent; to be moderate and yet have strong convictions, to be instructive and yet not dull.” Above all, the information had to be dressed “in the most attractive manner” and displayed “in the most accessible way.”
²⁷

The
Index
did not require a large circulation so long as it was read in all the clubs and by MPs. Hotze sought out contributors with deliberate calculation. He wanted writers with connections to other newspapers rather than ardent partisans. The more they wrote for him, he reasoned, the more they would absorb Confederate views that would in turn carry over into their articles for other newspapers. British journalism was a small enclave within the already small world of educated society.
²⁸
Once inside the charmed circle, Hotze discovered it was easy to influence content without being obvious. Newspaper editors were so eager for American news that they would take his manufactured “letters from a traveler” and rework them to appear as editorials or reportage.
²⁹
One of Hotze’s favorite methods was to supply an acquaintance with fresh information in the shape of a pro-South editorial that required little editing. If the article was printed, Hotze would always insist that the submitter keep the ten-guinea fee. For the moment, Hotze was concentrating on two themes that he thought would resonate with English readers: the needless suffering of cotton workers, and the “blood” relationship between the Southern gentry and their British cousins.
³⁰

Henry Adams thought the tone of the
Index
was “so excruciatingly never conquer” that “one is forced to the belief that they think themselves very near that last ditch.”
³¹
He discounted the Confederates’ methods at his peril, however. Thurlow Weed, Seward’s emissary, was not a “clubbable” man in the English sense, and Grub Street hacks prided their independence too much to accept his money.
³²
He was an expert at pulling the more vulgar levers of corruption, but the subtle game of co-opting English journalists had eluded him. When Weed departed from England at the beginning of June, it was with a sense of regret that he had only partially fulfilled his mission. On a personal level, he was confident that his conversations with various editors and politicians had disabused them of the more pernicious myths about Seward. On the other hand, Weed knew that his efforts to establish a Northern lobby similar to Henry Hotze’s stable of propagandists and opinion formers had failed.

There was more disappointment for Weed once he arrived home and discovered that his control over the New York press had slipped during his absence. His views on Britain had mellowed during his time abroad, yet he found editors resistant to the idea of adopting a more benign view of Anglo-American relations. Bravely, Weed took on the burden himself and published an open letter to New York City’s Common Council in which he urged his countrymen to reconsider their hostility to England. Regarding the
Trent
affair, “I am bound,” he asserted, “in truth and fairness, to say, that that Government and people sincerely believed that
we
desired a rupture with
them,
that we sought occasion to taunt and snub them.” Moreover, America’s recent behavior toward Britain included supporting Russia in the Crimean War, the expulsion of the British minister on a technicality, and Seward’s oft-repeated claim that one day Canada would belong to the United States: “Some of these grounds of complaint were, as we know, well taken.” He begged his fellow New Yorkers to remember that “the Union has many ardent, well-wishing friends in England, and can have many more if we act justly ourselves.”
³³

Though wise and admirably sane, Weed’s letter failed to address the intense bitterness caused by
The Times
and other newspapers. Edward Dicey was disconcerted when he visited the house of a Northern acquaintance who forced him to gaze at the portrait of a young man. “ ‘How,’ he said to me, ‘would you like, yourself, to read constantly that that lad died in a miserable cause, and, as an American officer, should be called a coward?’ ” Dicey admitted that “I could make no adequate reply.”
³⁴
The fact that many American newspapers were just as rude about Britain was a rather hollow argument in the face of such grief.
³⁵
The U.S. consul in Paris, John Bigelow, warned Lord Russell that it made Americans deeply resentful to learn from the British press “that we are barbarians, that our system of government is a nuisance, that our statesmen are knaves or imbeciles.”
³⁶
The British consulate in New York noticed that ordinary Britons suffered every time there was a controversy in the press, and Lord Edward St. Maur wrote home about a new term being bandied about the city: “Anglo-Rebels.”
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—

Despite Butler’s offensive “Woman Order,” the MP William Schaw Lindsay was discovering just how difficult it could be to turn goodwill in Parliament into action. Nine-tenths of the House of Commons, he insisted to James Spence, “was in favor of immediate recognition” of the Confederacy. Spence thought he should wait for a Southern victory before forcing a vote, but Lindsay disagreed; his interviews with Emperor Napoleon in April had made it clear that the only impediment to Southern independence was the British cabinet. As proof, he could point to the leading article in
Le Constitutionnel
on June 1 that appeared to argue that France should offer to mediate in the conflict without bothering to wait for Britain.
^12.2
On June 17, Lindsay sent an arrogant letter to Russell warning him that the government would look weak and foolish if its foreign policy ended up in the hands of backbenchers like himself. “Within the next fortnight,” he boasted, support for the Confederacy would be unstoppable. James Mason fervently hoped that his friend was right. He was feeling rather downcast by their lack of progress. “We must wait for ‘King Cotton,’ ” he wrote to Slidell on June 19, “to turn the screw still further.”
³⁹

Two weeks later, Mason’s wish seemed close to being granted. The supply of cotton bales went down while the number of workers on poor relief jumped by another 11,000.
⁴⁰
There were more mass meetings in Lancashire. Even though the results of these meetings were often ambiguous, they were sufficiently heated to alarm the Union’s supporters.
^12.3
Lord Lyons had been back in Britain for only a few days, but he immediately grasped the seriousness of the situation. He reported to William Stuart, secretary of the legation in Washington, that cotton was “the real question of the day.” Obviously, Lyons was powerless to do anything from England, but, he told Stuart, “if you can manage in any way to get a supply of cotton for England before the winter, you will have done a greater service than has been effected by Diplomacy for a century.”
⁴²
The Duke of Argyll, John Bright, and Richard Cobden all wrote to Charles Sumner begging him to use his influence in facilitating the flow of cotton from the South.
⁴³

The U.S. legation was in a high state of anxiety. They had hoped to derail Lindsay by exposing the MP as an arms supplier or blockade runner for the South, but discreet inquiries into his business dealings revealed that the shipping magnate was scrupulously honest.
⁴⁴
Their best hope lay in a military success. “[We are] waiting the event of the struggle at Richmond,” Henry told his brother on July 4, 1862.
⁴⁵
London was swirling with rumors that Lee had defeated McClellan. “No one but me is sorry for it,” wrote Lord Lyons; until now he had not understood how sharply public opinion had turned against the United States.
⁴⁶
Despite the wild ups and downs of the past twelve months, he had never ceased to hope that the two countries might form some sort of an alliance, but “public opinion will not allow the Government to do more for the North than maintain a strict neutrality,” he wrote pessimistically on July 5, “and it may not be easy to do that if there comes any strong provocation from the US.”
⁴⁷
Adams tried dropping heavy hints to Seward that the North could not afford to alienate Europe while her armies looked so vulnerable. The “insurgent emissaries” here, he warned on the eleventh, were eager to seize on “every act” that might “cast odium on the [U.S.] Government.”
⁴⁸

After the latest news put McClellan in full retreat, Lindsay decided that the time for his motion had come. But over the next few days, the “nine-tenths” he had boasted of began to doubt the wisdom of forcing the British government’s hand. After initially encouraging him, the Tory leadership came to its senses and realized that the American war brought out too many conflicting passions to unify the opposition. “In fact, it seems that there is nothing good to be got out of this American question,” wrote a senior Tory on July 14.
⁴⁹
Lord Lyons was also quietly lobbying senior politicians against making any change to the current policy.
⁵⁰

Lindsay began to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps, he admitted, Spence was right after all; they needed something exceptional to sweep members off their collective feet. Two days later the longed-for moment arrived when Parliament received the official figures on employment in Lancashire. The report was sufficiently dire to revive Lindsay’s courage. He announced that he would be introducing a debate on the Civil War on July 18. While Lindsay was composing his speech, the news reached London that Lee had crushed the Federal army in the Seven Days’ Battles. Henry Adams stared in amazement at the bold headline of his evening paper. “ ‘Capitulation of McClellan’s Army. Flight of McClellan on a steamer. Later from America.’ This astounding news for a moment made me almost give way,” he wrote.

William Forster, MP, came rushing to the legation to find out if it was true. “Such odd things have occurred of late, that we can’t be sure now that our generals won’t run away from their own soldiers,” wrote Moran bitterly.
⁵¹
Charles Francis Adams received Forster in his study, looking ashen. “This has gone too far,” he wrote in his diary, “that I think I should be glad to be relieved of the mission. Nothing but a sense of duty to the public reconciles me to the trial a moment longer.”
⁵²
“Things look well for Lindsay’s motion tonight,” gloated James Mason.
⁵³
The Times
helped maintain the appearance by suppressing information that contradicted the surrender report.
⁵⁴
The legation, however, had the latest newspapers from New York. “A single glance at dates showed us that it was an utter swindle,” wrote Henry; “we had bulletins from McClellan two days later than the day of the reported surrender.”
⁵⁵

Adams was aghast at how quickly the falsehood was spreading, and he asked William Forster to take the American newspaper to the House of Commons so that MPs could see for themselves that the Federal army had retreated but was still intact. Benjamin Moran went along to watch and was surprised by the enormous crowd that had turned up for the debate. There was much jostling between Northern and Southern supporters over seats in the gallery. James Mason had a shouting match with the doorkeeper and had to be rescued by William Gregory, who led him to the floor. Moran was pleased to see that the Southern commissioner was wearing the wrong type of coat for the occasion. The only people not present were Adams and Lord Lyons, who both stayed away deliberately.

Adams might have felt calmer if he had known that the McClellan rumor would not affect the British government’s policy. Three weeks earlier, Lord Palmerston had candidly informed the Confederate agent Edwin De Leon that the Federals could be pushed back and Washington besieged and it would still not be enough to guarantee recognition.
⁵⁶
Knowledge of this would have saved Lindsay from making a fool of himself. He was such a poor speaker anyway that several members went off for a drink until he had finished. Moran seethed as he listened to the debate, forgetting that politicians generally consider foreign countries to be fair game. No speaker challenged Lindsay’s assertion that slavery was not the cause of the war or that the North was fighting out of greed and a desire for power. At half past one in the morning, Lord Palmerston rose slowly from his seat and the boisterous House of Commons fell silent. The seventy-eight-year-old politician surveyed his listeners with a grandfatherly air. He reminded the House that a report of the debate would be read in America and would probably offend both sides. But, more important, there had never been “a contest of such magnitude between two different sections of the same people.” Recognition or mediation was not something to be considered lightly. It was for the government alone to decide “what can be done, when it can be done, and how it can be done.” The House burst into applause. “As I came away,” recorded Moran with satisfaction, “I met Mason alone, looking sullen and dejected.”
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