cies from the United States were also active and effective. August Belmont, the banker; Thurlow Weed, editor and politician; Bishop McIlvaine, of the Protestant Episcopal Church; Hughes, the great Roman Catholic prelate; and Beecher, the greatest American pulpit orator, were unofficially commissioned to visit various European countries and to exert their influence for the enlightenment of governments and people as to the real issues of the war. Perhaps most notable of all was the work of Beecher in England. In London, Liverpool, Manchester, and elsewhere, he essayed to address great audiences of working people who were out of employment because of the cotton blockade, and in many cases, with their families, were suffering the pangs of actual famine. At first they were almost savagely hostile, and howled the speaker down. But with almost infinite patience and tact, and with the inspiring personality of a great man, he stood his ground and compelled them to listen to him; and to listen to him was to be convinced. In the end those suffering multitudes became the staunchest friends of the American cause.

But now came what narrowly escaped being an irremediable catastrophe. Adams had written that much depended upon the success of the Federal arms, and at the end of July Belmont wrote to Seward that for the United States to win one or two battles would be of inestimable advantage to the American cause in England. This was realized in this country, and the army I was stirred to feverish activity with less discretion than zeal. A few minor victories in West Virginia were not sufficient. There rose a demand for a big battle in the East which should crush at a blow the rising power of the Confederates. On June 26 some editorial writer in "The New York Tribune"-not Greeley -printed in big type what he called the "Nation's War Cry,' to this purpose: "Forward to Richmond! Forward to Richmond! The Rebel Congress must not be allowed to meet there on the 20th of July! By that date the place must be held by the National army!" This utterance was repeated, and had its effect. The army was pushed forward, and on July 21 it clashed with the Confederates at Manassas, or Bull Run. The ensuing conflict, the first considerable engagement of the war, was one of the best planned and worst fought of all battles on this continent. At its end the Federals, in utterly uncalled-for

and senseless panic, were in disgraceful rout and flight, while the Confederates themselves were too fearful and frightened to pursue them. It was a tragedy of errors. But it was accounted an overwhelming defeat for the Federal army, and a great victory for the Confederates, and as such it impressed England and all Europe. In this country it served merely to arouse the North to more resolute if more discreet endeavors. But abroad it was generally interpreted as indicating the decided superiority of the Southern armies and as presaging the certain triumph of the Confederate cause. "The news has had the effect," wrote Adams to Seward, "of bringing to light the prevailing feeling in Great Britain. The division of the Union is now regarded as a fait accompli."

There then occurred in England what John Stuart Mill described as "the rush of nearly the whole upper and middle classes, even those who passed for Liberals, into a furious proSouthern partizanship; the working classes and some of the scientific and literary men being almost the sole exceptions to the general frenzy." Nor were the working people as generally exceptions as Mill suggested. What Goldwin Smith, staunch friend of America, described as "the awful peril, not only commercial but social, with which the cotton famine threatened us, and the thrill of alarm and horror which upon the dawning of that peril ran through the whole land," involved the working people too, to a large extent. Palmerston and Russell for the government, "The London Times" and "The Saturday Review" for the press, were outspoken on the side of Southern independence. They declared that slavery had little to do with the contest. It was a fight between empire and independence. The Confederates were in precisely the position that the Thirteen Colonies had been in at the Revolution, and the North was playing the part of George III and Lord North; and the result was sure to be the same as in 1783. In view of this prospect, it was asked, why should England be compelled to suffer a cotton famine and little less than industrial ruin, in order that the inevitable might be for a short time postponed?

Just at this critical juncture in our foreign affairs, a militant incident came perilously near to plunging us into war on another issue, in which we would have been indefensibly in the

VOL. II-2.

wrong. The Confederate government sent as commissioners to Europe James M. Mason and John Slidell, who had formerly been conspicuous in the diplomatic service of the nation and were regarded with especial antipathy by the Federal Government and by the whole North for their adherence to the Confederacy. They ran the blockade from Charleston and sailed with a numerous staff on the British mail steamer Trent, from Havana, Cuba. The next day out, November 8, the ship was stopped by the United States man-of-war San Jacinto, under the command of Captain Charles Wilkes, the distinguished Antarctic explorer. Two shots were fired, to compel the Trent to lay to. The Trent was then visited and searched, and Wilkes, who regarded Mason and Slidell practically as contraband of war, on that ground held the Trent to be liable to seizure and confiscation. Out of regard for the other passengers and the mails, however, he released the vessel and let her proceed, but took Mason and Slidell as prisoners and carried them to Boston, where they were placed in Fort Warren. The news of this exploit electrified the United States with wild and unreasoning enthusiasm, partly because of spite against Great Britain and an exultation in paying her back in her own coin for her searches and impressments in former years, which were still keenly remembered, but chiefly because after Jefferson Davis himself there were no men in all the Confederacy who were so hated or whose capture and punishment were so desired, as Mason and Slidell. In Great Britain, on the other hand, the incident was regarded at first with incredulity, and then with resentment and with a resolution to exact reparation for what was held to be a grievous wrong.

The governments of France, Austria, Prussia, and Russia promptly made their opinion and feelings known. They, of course, condemned the seizure of the Confederate envoys as a violation of international law, and expressed grave solicitude lest the act should prove indicative of a purpose on the part of the United States to disregard neutral rights in a manner which would cause serious international complications.

Gideon Welles, the secretary of the navy, publicly commended Wilkes for his act, the House of Representatives adopted commendatory resolutions, and many eminent men joined in doing

him honor. It is said that all the members of the cabinet shared Welles's views, except the postmaster-general, Blair; but for this there is no positive authority. No other put himself on record, and even the usually impulsive and aggressive Seward was silent and noncommittal, evidently appreciating the seriousness of the situation. Lincoln, too, was silent, but gave indications that he doubted the legality of Wilkes's act, and feared that the United States would be embarrassed to know what to do with the captured envoys. Blair in the cabinet and Charles Sumner in the Senate were outspoken at once for the immediate surrender of the captives and for disavowal of Wilkes's unauthorized act, which had in fact been performed on his sole authority and initiative. This advice did not at once prevail, which was perhaps fortunate, seeing that overwrought public passion might have led to some wild and desperate deeds. On November 30 Seward wrote to Adams that the release of the captives would probably be the solution of the difficulty. Before that, though of course unknown to Seward, on November 27, the British cabinet met to discuss the matter. It was agreed that the seizure was illegal and that reparation must be made, but the tone of the ministers was moderate, Bright and others having urged that they should ask nothing that the United States government could not grant without humiliation. The despatch which Russell drafted for transmission to Lyons at Washington was indeed somewhat harsh and peremptory, but happily it had to pass through the hands of the queen, and she, with the advice of her dying husband, materially modified its expressions. As finally transmitted it called for the liberation of Mason and Slidell and their secretaries, with a suitable apology. If Seward did not make a satisfactory reply within seven days, Lyons was to quit Washington and to return forthwith to London-presumably as preliminary to a declaration of war. The British navy was mobilized, and an army was prepared for immediate transportation to Canada, and a part of it was actually sent. A curious episode of the despatch of the troops to Canada, potentially to fight against the United States, was that at that season the St. Lawrence was closed with ice; and one of the troopships had to put into the harbor of Portland, Maine. The British minister then asked Seward for permission to land the troops and to

convey them to Canada across United States territory; which permission was unhesitatingly granted.

The ultimatum was not, however, at once presented to Seward. A supplementary and private note to Lyons authorized him to withhold it at his discretion, and meanwhile to discuss the matter with Seward and to endeavor to prepare the way for it, so that when finally it was presented the American secretary of state would be ready to give a satisfactory answer. This judicious course was abundantly vindicated by the event. Seward responded cordially to Lyons's overtures for a careful consideration of the case, and undertook a most painstaking study of the subject in all its historical and legal bearings. It was patent that the act of Wilkes had been a flagrant reversal of the very principles and practices for which the United States had formerly contended, even at the cost of a war with Great Britain. It was equally obvious that Great Britain had now reversed her former policy and was contending for the very things which fifty years before she had arrogantly denied. The fact was that the United States, or its overzealous Captain Wilkes, was trying in this case, as in the attempt to gain belated adherence to the Declaration of Paris, to shape its course not according to fixed principles but according to the exigencies of the time. That was not unnatural. Most nations have done the same. But it was not possible logically to defend such a course. Seward realized that fact, and in a manner at once broad-minded and consummately adroit devised a way of extricating the country from its awkward predicament without humiliation and without imperiling its peaceful relations with Great Britain; happily, because of the time which had now elapsed and which had caused a considerable cooling of American passions, without arousing dissatisfaction at home.

It was on December 1 that a queen's messenger left England for Washington with the ultimatum. It was not until December 19 that Lyons called upon Seward, whom he had not once met in all that interval, and acquainted him with its purport. Seward invited him to deliver it to him formally on the following Monday, December 23. During those four days the secretary practically made himself a prisoner in his study, denying himself to all visitors, while he prepared a reply. The reply was