From Colony to Superpower: U.S. Foreign Relations Since 1776 (38 page)

More than a bit vainglorious, he fancied himself at the outset a prime minister to the younger and less experienced Lincoln, and he concocted schemes that bordered on the bizarre. For example, on April Fools' Day, 1861 (appropriately), he proposed that the crisis of secession might be averted if the United States declared war on France and Spain simultaneously. This "wrap the world in fire" proposal had the presumed advantage of holding the Union together by instigating a foreign war. Lincoln had the good sense to reject it.

After this inauspicious beginning, Seward matured and went on to conduct Union diplomacy with distinction, maneuvering astutely through a series of crises. Employing a policy of controlled anger, he repeatedly emphasized to European powers the dangers of sticking their noses in America's troubles. More than once, he demonstrated that rarest and most essential of diplomatic skills, talking tough enough to satisfy his domestic constituency and give an adversary pause while compromising when the situation demanded it. He carefully cultivated a madman image, encouraging other nations to believe him reckless. He often reminded Britain and France of the dangers of intervention in U.S. affairs, warning that a Union victory would mean a high price to pay later on. He became a fervent spokesman for the Union and the republican principles
upon which it was founded. Once remembered for little more than the purchase of Alaska, which, of course, was labeled his "folly," Seward now ranks among the nation's best secretaries of state.

Lincoln proved a perfect complement to his brilliant and sometimes volatile adviser. The president brought no diplomatic experience to the White House. He had traveled only to Canada, knew no foreign languages, and even by nineteenth-century-American standards would be considered provincial. But he appointed able people to key positions. He was a master at managing the strong men who worked with him. A natural-born politician, he had an instinctive feel for the diplomatic art. Rivals for the presidency, he and Seward formed what Lincoln's personal secretary John Hay called an "official connection hallowed by a friendship so absolute and sincere," a true rarity in government. Lincoln found relief from the pressures of war in Seward's convivial Lafayette Square parlor. For the most part, he left the secretary of state free to do his job, only occasionally reining in his excesses. Above all, Lincoln was the quintessentially American practical idealist. As the war wore on, he eloquently voiced the importance of a Union victory for the worldwide cause of freedom and shrewdly maneuvered between sometimes conflicting domestic and foreign pressures to realize the ideals he preached.
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At the start of the Civil War, only tsarist Russia, among the European powers, stood squarely with the Union. This curious entente between autocratic Russia and the world's leading democracy was deeply rooted in recent history. In the 1840s, the two nations had followed non-conflicting expansionist courses. Each saw the other as a potential check against Britain. Americans played an important role in Russia's economic development, especially in transportation and communications. The two nations developed a remarkable cultural affinity. During the Crimean War, the United States became "considerably Russified," in Secretary of State William Marcy's words, maintaining a benevolent neutrality that verged on the alliance Americans professed to abhor. The United States sold Russia large quantities of coal, cotton, and war supplies. American volunteers fought with Russia; U.S. doctors served with its army. Contacts between the two nations increased after the war, and the rise of abolitionism in both countries in the 1850s provided another important link.
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Russians feared with the outbreak of the Civil War that the United States would not be able to balance Britain during a period of instability in Europe. They were determined to repay U.S. support during the Crimean War. Tsar Alexander welcomed to St. Petersburg in June 1861 the Union minister, Cassius Clay of Kentucky, hailing two nations "bound together by a common sympathy in the common cause of emancipation." Throughout four years of bloody warfare in America and turbulence in Europe, his country never wavered from that position.
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The other major powers, France and England, were sharply divided on the American Civil War. In England, the rising forces of liberalism despised slavery and saw the United States as a beacon of democracy in a conservative world. Despite reservations about slavery, more conservative Britons and indeed the European ruling classes generally considered the breakup of the "American colossus" as "good riddance of a night mare."
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They felt some kinship with the stability, order, and gentility of the southern social system, in contrast to the money-grubbing plutocracy and dangerous mobocracy that, in their eyes, characterized the Union.

Those Europeans responsible for the conduct of diplomacy, balance-of-power politicians in the great age of European realpolitik, saw advantages in a divided America as opposed to a
United
States. Some Britons, in particular, concluded that Canada and other vital interests in the Western Hemisphere might be more secure with a balance of power in North America instead of U.S. hegemony. Seeking to emulate his famous uncle and fire French national pride through foreign adventurism, Napoleon III thoroughly despised the United States and saw the Monroe Doctrine as a major obstacle to his grand scheme for restoring national glory and containing republicanism by rebuilding in America a French empire centered upon Mexico.

Finally, to some Europeans, the principle of self-determination, as manifested in southern secessionism, had an appealing ring. The staunchly pro-Confederate
Times
of London, undoubtedly with a twinkle in its journalistic eye, found an "exact analogy between the government in Washington and the Government of George III, and the South and the Thirteen Revolted Provinces."
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Misjudging U.S. determination to restore the Union and taking Lincoln's early caution on slavery at face
value, some British leaders viewed the war as a "meaningless bloodbath." They hoped for peace, and saw separation as an acceptable means to that end.

Although sympathetic to the South and the idea of secession, European leaders were not disposed to intrude. The adventurism that had raised southern hopes of support in fact had left France overextended. A newly cautious Napoleon increasingly deferred to British leadership. British leaders saw advantages in separation and felt some urge to end the war on humanitarian grounds, but they refused to take risks. They listened to Seward's warnings and carefully avoided steps that might provoke war with the United States. They recognized the importance of U.S. trade to their economy and refused to jeopardize it. Much like the United States in the Napoleonic era, they wanted to avoid entanglement
and
trade with both sides. Neutrality was thus the obvious choice. They sought to steer a delicate course between the two belligerents while protecting their interests and keeping their own people from involving their nation in war. Above all, they sought to stay out of the war and ensure that France did the same.

The combatants themselves provoked the first international crisis of the Civil War. The Lincoln administration adamantly insisted that it faced nothing more than an insurrection, but it employed means appropriate for full-scale war. Seeking to strangle the Confederacy at birth, it proclaimed a blockade, even though, technically, a blockade was an act of war, and, practically, it did not have enough ships to seal off a three-thousand-mile coastline. The Confederacy sent three commissioners to Europe seeking recognition. Using precedents set by the United States, it authorized the employment of privateers—the "militia of the sea"—as an "efficient and admirable instrument of defensive warfare." The Union threatened to treat privateers as pirates.
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Britain responded on May 13, 1861, by proclaiming its neutrality. To some extent the declaration reflected rising hostility toward the United States. The British resented the protective tariff passed by the Republican Congress in 1861 and the Union blockade. They may have moved too fast. They announced their neutrality without consulting Washington. Union leaders considered the move at best premature, at worst outright hostile.
Still, the actions taken by the combatants, especially the blockade, left little choice. British leaders saw the rebellion for what it was—a war. They cleverly harked back to precedents set by George Washington in 1793.

The British correctly insisted that they were not taking sides, but their actions appeared to favor the South. The declaration of neutrality automatically conceded belligerent status to the Confederacy. It was seen in both North and South (incorrectly as it turned out) as a precursor to recognition of independence and perhaps even aid. Foreign Secretary Lord John Russell further angered the Union by receiving the Confederate commissioners informally and announcing that Britain and France would act in concert in issues dealing with the war.

"God damn them!" Seward roared in response. His famous Dispatch No. 10 of May 21, 1861, although toned down by Lincoln, still threatened a break in relations if Britain continued to meet with southern representatives and otherwise moved closer to recognizing Confederate independence.
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He demanded respect for the Union blockade. When the British and French ministers visited him together, he insisted on seeing them separately. The U.S. minister to England, Charles Francis Adams, underscored the secretary's warnings. Arriving at his post just as the neutrality crisis erupted, Adams went out of his way to avoid antagonizing his hosts by appearing at court in the traditional stockings and lace rather than the black republican garb required by Marcy's 1854 dress circular. Echoing Seward's warnings, he threatened to depart before beginning his mission if Britain gave further comfort to the enemy.

Taking heed of Union protests and warnings, the British maintained a proper neutrality, offending both sides but increasingly leaning toward the Union. Recognizing the future value of precedents set by Washington, they did not challenge the blockade, despite its questionable legality. To the consternation of southerners, Russell did not receive the Confederate commissioners again. Britain refused to admit privateers to its ports, depriving the Confederacy of the presumed advantages of its "militia of the sea." British leaders did not want to appear to be supporting slavery. They were well aware of the long-run threat of diminishing cotton imports, but because of large crops in 1860 their warehouses were full and they could accept the short-term loss rather than provoke the Union. For the moment, they adopted a wait-and-see demeanor, letting the American dust settle before they acted. Sometimes in diplomacy the "wisest
strategy was to do nothing," Russell explained. "They who in quarrels interpose, will often get a bloody nose," Prime Minister Lord Palmerston, the consummate realist, pointedly reminded his colleagues.
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Even the Confederate victory at First Bull Run in July 1861, which momentarily encouraged the South and demoralized the North, failed to budge Britain from its strategy. Now the Confederacy protested British "truckling" to Seward's "arrogant demands" and acceptance of the "so-called blockade."

This changed suddenly in November 1861 when an incident at sea brought the United States and Britain to the verge of war. The
Trent
affair was the handiwork of the brilliant and eccentric Capt. Charles Wilkes. An accomplished scientist as well as naval officer, Wilkes had headed the Great United States Exploring Expedition on its worldwide journey in the 1840s.
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Arrogant, overbearing, as paranoid as the legendary Capt. William Bligh, he was also impulsive and ambitious—he once promoted himself to captain while at sea and ostentatiously donned the uniform he had packed for the occasion. His actions in 1861 made clear the way an impetuous individual could provoke a major crisis.
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Learning that recently appointed southern diplomats James Mason and John Slidell were aboard the British ship
Trent
en route from Havana to Europe via St. Thomas, Wilkes, on his own authority, stopped and boarded the neutral ship. Taking upon himself the role of international lawyer and prize court judge, he captured Mason and Slidell. Without searching the ship or taking it to prize court, he sent it on its way. In fact, the neutral vessel was carrying southern dispatches, generally recognized as contraband, but by not following the proper rules of search and seizure Wilkes rendered his actions illegal.

The capture of Mason and Slidell reversed the traditional roles of America and Britain in maritime disputes and provoked anger across the Atlantic. Britons were furious; there was much loose talk of war.
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The cabinet was understandably outraged and demanded that the United States disavow Wilkes's actions, release Mason and Slidell, and apologize. The dying Prince Albert, Queen Victoria's closest adviser, softened the tone of the cabinet's ultimatum, giving diplomacy a chance to work, but
British leaders were still prepared to break relations, the last step before war. The nation began to mobilize and took steps to fortify Canadian defenses. France backed Britain and even proposed joint intervention in the Civil War, a step London quickly and wisely rejected. All "the world is disgusted by the insolence of the American Republic," Russell exclaimed.
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The U.S. reaction was mixed. To a nation starved for victories, the capture of the two Confederate diplomats was welcome news, especially since Mason and Slidell had been among the most rabid of southern disunionists. Northerners hailed Wilkes's audacity. Some hotheads responded to British war fever with bellicose talk of their own. Others recognized that Wilkes had violated the nation's traditional stand for freedom of the seas. In time, moreover, even the hottest of heads perceived the difficulty of defeating Britain and the Confederacy at once and recognized that a war with Britain might ensure southern independence. At first complacent, Lincoln and Seward gradually recognized the hornet's nest Wilkes had stirred. Near-panic in financial circles encouraged their desire for compromise. In this instance, Lincoln continued to talk tough to his domestic audience while letting Seward arrange a face-saving compromise. The secretary readily assented to British demands to give up the two diplomats. Since they were contraband, he insisted, their seizure had been legal, but Wilkes's failure to follow the rules forced their release. He also justified his action in terms of America's long-standing support for freedom of the seas and its opposition to impressment.