Authors: John Boyko
Lincoln said nothing publicly about Britain’s affront to everything he believed so vitally important, but there were heated debates in the White House and halls of Congress. Senator Sumner ensured that his many British contacts heard everything that was being discussed. Sumner hated
Seward. His personal disdain was darkened by professional jealousy. He shared Seward’s goal of annexing Canada to bolster America’s economic future, but the two seldom agreed on tactics. Sumner and others thought Seward was unnecessarily leading the United States into war with Britain in Canada and he relayed those opinions to a number of British correspondents as disparate as Queen Victoria’s daughter Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, and
London Times
journalist William Russell. Sumner’s frequent and gossipy letters derided Seward as reckless, sinister and dangerous.
39
A Sumner letter that ended up with Lord Lyons reported that at a dinner at Seward’s home, the secretary of state had become enraged when speaking of Canada and Britain and at one point snapped, “God damn ’em. I’ll give ’em hell.”
40
Lyons reported to Lord Russell that, according to Sumner, there was uncertainty as to whether Lincoln or the cabinet were willing to stand up to Seward and temper his aggressive tendencies. Seward’s profane declaration might, Lyons speculated, be the final insult that could lead to war with America and the invasion of Canada.
41
The preparations to meet that invasion continued. The first British regiment departed for Canada in May. In early June the other two were sent, this time aboard the
Great Eastern
, the fastest vessel in the British fleet. The use of that ship was designed to impress and possibly intimidate the Americans in that it crossed the Atlantic in only eight days. A large crowd at the Quebec City docks welcomed the red-coated soldiers with hearty cheers.
The British troops arrived amid new, swirling rumours of war. The always truculent
New York Herald
reported that a group calling itself the 69th Irish Reserve was assembling in Buffalo and preparing to attack Canada to promote independence for its beleaguered people. It then published gossip to the effect that an armistice between the American North and South was apparently imminent, with both sides agreeing to jointly attack Central America and Canada.
42
These and other rumours were soon dismissed, but because the
Herald
was widely read in Canada and Britain, they added to the already palpable tension. Palmerston had by this point
already sent three thousand troops to Canada. He ordered more. He wanted at least ten thousand soldiers on the Canadian border, bolstered by modern artillery.
43
While British troops were settling into their quarters and preparing to take on their new mission, the mistrust that had brought them across the ocean grew even greater. The steamer
Peerless
was resting in Toronto’s harbour, having just been purchased from the Bank of Upper Canada by J.T. Wright of New York. Word leaked out that it was being outfitted with armaments and about to be sold to the South to be used as a blockade runner. Hearing those rumours, Massachusetts governor John Andrew wrote to Governor General Head demanding that he stop the purchase.
44
Seward met with Lyons on May 1 and supported that demand. Seward wanted Head to detain the ship, seize and search its papers, and then report to him regarding its ownership and mission. If the Canadians would not seize the ship, Seward threatened, then he would have Americans do it. Lyons told Seward that such actions could lead to war and telegraphed Head to warn him of coming trouble.
45
He also sent a message to Lord John Russell stating that Seward looked prepared to violate Canadian territory.”
46
Seward carried through and issued commands to American warships to watch for the
Peerless
in the mouth of the St. Lawrence and to capture it regardless of which flag it might be flying.
On May 10, with the Union Jack crackling in the morning breeze, the
Peerless
left Toronto. Head had ordered Lt. General Sir William Fenwick Williams, the British commander of Canadian forces, to place armed guards along its route with special attention to the canals where the ship would be most vulnerable to American attempts to board her. It stopped in Montreal where its mast was temporarily removed to allow it to pass under the Victoria Bridge. It then sailed on to Quebec City, where Wright tried to secure registration as an American ship. The U.S. consul seized her and a bureaucratic stand-off ensued. American consular authorities were finally convinced to allow the
Peerless
to be on its way if captained by a Nova Scotian named McCarthy. American naval vessels allowed it to pass.
The Ashmun and
Peerless
episodes were blemishes on Seward’s career.
He had gained only suspicion and derision, and afforded Head yet another reason to ask for British reinforcements and Palmerston another reason to send them. Seward’s reputation as a hot-headed bully whose actions and attitudes might yet bring Britain and America to war was solidified in the minds of many.
47
Throughout the gathering storm, American minister to London Charles Adams and his son Henry, working as his secretary, carried on regular correspondence with family back in America. Henry wrote to his brother in June 1861: “I believe that our Government means to have a war with England; I believe that England knows it and is preparing for it; and I believe it will come in the next two months.… Wait for a Canadian campaign.”
48
Like Adams, Head and Lyons remained convinced that the United States was moving inexorably toward an invasion of Canada, and that because the war against the rebellious South would be over quickly that invasion would be coming sooner rather than later.
49
Canadians, reading their newspapers and seeing the British soldiers gathering in their midst, could not help but share those fears.
Bells jangled and jaunty carriage tassels swayed as freshly groomed horses trotted southwest from Washington on the Warrenton Pike. Hundreds of congressmen, bureaucrats and businessmen, joined by their wives and children, had their hearts set on adventure that gleaming Sunday morning of July 12, 1861. They were drawn by the widely held belief that the battle about to take place a mere twenty miles away could be the first and last with the rebel South. It was not to be missed. Picnics were laid out. They squinted to see the black smoke rising from the distant battlefield as Union troops advanced in ragged lines just a couple of miles away. They gasped at the echoing thunder of artillery and puffs of musket-fire. A British reporter heard a woman squeal: “This is splendid. Oh my! Is not that first rate? I feel we will be in Richmond this time to-morrow.”
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It did not work out that way.
Union troops had advanced toward Bull Run Creek at three in the morning. Their feints at two spots were immediately seen as such and Confederate troops shifted to stop the main assault coming on their left. Artillery roared from both sides. The Washington voyeurs cheered from the hill.
There was no questioning the courage of the men, but neither side had a consistency in vocabulary and so orders were often misunderstood—when orders came at all. More confusion was caused by the lack of unity in regiment and state flags and the wild mix of state-issued and home-made uniforms that saw many Southerners in blue and Northerners in grey. There was even a New York and an Alabama Fire Zouave unit, both decked out in bright red baggy pants and white turbans.
After a series of charges and counter-charges, the Union looked as if it was about to take the field, for its advance up the Henry House hill had broken the Confederate units—except for one. Confederate Colonel Thomas Jackson, dressed in his blue Virginia Military Institute uniform, ordered his troops to scream while attacking down the hill, firing first and then plying bayonets. For the first time, Union forces heard the bloodcurdling rebel yell. And they ran. Jackson had held the line long enough for reinforcements to surge forward.
The Union lines broke, with soldiers turning to run and many dropping their muskets to run faster. In no time they became entangled with the civilians who had been frantically rolling blankets and gathering their children. Ohio Senator Benjamin Wade and Michigan Senator Zachariah Chandler grabbed up discarded weapons and, along with a handful of other steadfast men, tried to block the road, bellowing at panicking soldiers to return and fight. But there was no stopping them.
Jefferson Davis had ridden to Manassas Junction and arrived in time to see the Union troops in their mad flight back to Washington. He urged General Beauregard, the hero of Fort Sumter, to pursue them, but the general said his men needed rest and water. It was over.
Lincoln had heard the thundering artillery from the White House. Now he stood at the window watching bedraggled soldiers stumbling
their way to safety. Darkness brought rain. Through heavily lidded eyes, the melancholy president glimpsed soldiers huddled beneath dirty, sodden blankets and curled in nightmare-filled sleep on the capital’s rain-drenched lawns.
Reaction throughout the north was swift and harsh. The Democratic
New York Herald
blamed the administration and Lincoln in particular. The
New York Tribune
removed the masthead “Forward to Richmond,” which for some time had festooned its front page. Its publisher, Horace Greeley, composed a letter to Lincoln urging the president to begin peace negotiations with Davis. The
New York Times
sought not to affix blame but rather to consider consequence. Its editorial stated, “It is pretty evident now that we have underrated the strength of the resources and the temper of the enemy.”
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Lincoln did as he had always done and put his thoughts on paper. He made a nine-point list of things that needed to be done and then immediately set out to do them. He called for thirty-five-year-old George McClellan, who had done good work in Virginia, was well respected by the troops and was known as a crack military organizer, to take control of the Army of the Potomac. Lincoln ordered a more stringent military blockade. And he declared that all three-month recruitment agreements would now last for three years.
The battle that the North called Bull Run and the South called Manassas was only hours old but, like the
New York Times
—and like Davis—Lincoln understood its message. The war was real. It would be long and it would be bloody. Those who had believed the Union would easily defeat the Confederacy were cowed. Davis wrote to his governors asking for more men. Lincoln did the same.
Britain’s reaction to Bull Run was captured by a long article in the
London Times
written by journalist William Russell, who had travelled throughout the South and, even before the battle, had concluded that the North could never win the war.
52
The battle served to prove the validity of his thesis. The article was so critical of the North’s leadership and military that Lincoln denied his request to embed himself with McClellan’s forces.
Palmerston agreed with Russell’s assessment. He wrote to the Foreign Office: “It is in the highest degree likely that the North will not be able to subdue the South, and it is no doubt certain that if the Southern union is established as an independent State it would afford a valuable and extensive market for British Manufacturers, but the operations of the war have as yet been too indecisive to warrant an acknowledgement of the southern Union.”
53
In other words, Britain’s policies regarding the Civil War, including the paramount question of recognition for the South, would be ultimately determined not by the diplomats but by the soldiers.
The Canadian legislative assembly was in session when news of Bull Run arrived. Two government members burst into the chamber and, with no attempt to hide their glee, announced the Union defeat. Three cheers arose for the Confederacy.
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Most of the government members joined in the hurrahs, while most of the opposition remained silent.
The fissures seen in the assembly reflected those of the nation. Class, race, ethnicity, region and religion were dividing Canadian loyalties well before decisions had to be made regarding support for the North or South. The various elements of Canada’s nascent civil society were slowly coalescing into the complexity that would become its defining characteristic. The divisions came crashing to the fore in every election and, because of Canada’s unstable political structure, there were plenty of them. But the election that took place in the summer of 1861 all but ignored the usual issues and focused on one—anti-Americanism.
Canadian elections were not for the faint-hearted. The secret ballot was deemed “unmanly,” and so voters, all men, had to stand and publicly declare their choice. Voting took place over a number of days and voting lists were shabby at best, so it was common for wagonloads of those promising to vote for a particular candidate to be plied with liquor and then rushed from one polling place to another to exercise their franchise over and over again. Polling stations were often in bars.
The tenor of the 1861 campaign was seen in John A. Macdonald’s Kingston riding. For many elections in a row Macdonald had grown used to winning by wide margins and with little effort. This time, however, George Brown’s friend and fellow Reformer Oliver Mowat announced at the last minute that he was vying for the seat. Macdonald had once brought the young Mowat into his Kingston firm and helped start his law career, but those halcyon days were long gone. Just before the election call, Mowat had been on his feet in the House lambasting Macdonald and accusing him of all kinds of chicanery. In a rage perhaps fuelled by gin, Macdonald had crossed the floor, grabbed the much shorter, stouter Mowat, and shouted, “You damned pup, I’ll slap your chops.”
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He would surely have done so if not pulled away. Now Mowat had local toughs attending Macdonald’s meetings and yelling rude interruptions. Fights sometimes broke out, and more than once rocks were thrown at Macdonald and others on stage.