Off to the railway station--Railway carriages--Philadelphia--
Washington--Willard’s Hotel--Mr. Seward--North and South--The
“State Department” at Washington--President Lincoln--Dinner
at Mr. Seward’s.
After our pleasant breakfast came that necessity for activity which
makes such meals disguised as mere light morning repasts take their
revenge. I had to pack up, and I am bound to say the moral aid
afforded me by the waiter, who stood with a sympathising expression
of face, and looked on as I wrestled with boots, books, and great
coats, was of a most comprehensive character. At last I conquered,
and at six o’clock P.M. I left the Clarendon, and was conveyed over
the roughest and most execrable pavements through several miles of
unsympathetic, gloomy, dirty streets, and crowded thoroughfares,
over jaw-wrenching street-railway tracks, to a large wooden shed
covered with inscriptions respecting routes and destinations on
the bank of the river, which as far as the eye could see, was
bordered by similar establishments, where my baggage was deposited
in the mud. There were no porters, none of the recognised and
established aides to locomotion to which we are accustomed in
Europe, but a number of amateurs divided the spoil, and carried it
into the offices, whilst I was directed to struggle for my ticket
in another little wooden box, from which I presently received the
necessary document, full of the dreadful warnings and conditions,
which railway companies inflict on the public in all free countries.
The whole of my luggage, except a large bag, was taken charge
of by a man at the New York side of the ferry, who “checked it
through” to the capital--giving me a slip of brass with a number
corresponding with a brass ticket for each piece. When the boat
arrived at the stage at the other side of the Hudson, in my
innocence I called for a porter to take my bag. The passengers were
moving out of the capacious ferry-boat in a steady stream, and the
steam throat and bell of the engine were going whilst I was looking
for my porter; but at last a gentleman passing, said, “I guess
y’ill remain here a considerable time before y’ill get any one to
come for that bag of yours,” and taking the hint, I just got off
in time to stumble into a long box on wheels, with a double row of
most uncomfortable seats, and a passage down the middle, where I
found a place beside Mr. Sanford, the newly-appointed United States
Minister to Belgium, who was kind enough to take me under his
charge to Washington.
The night was closing in very fast as the train started, but such
glimpses as I had of the continuous line of pretty-looking villages
of wooden houses, two stories high, painted white, each with its
Corinthian portico, gave a most favourable impression of the
comfort and prosperity of the people. The rail passed through the
main street of most of these hamlets and villages, and the bell
of the engine was tolled to warn the inhabitants, who drew up on
the side walks, and let us go by. Soon the white houses faded away
into faint blurred marks on the black ground of the landscape, or
twinkled with starlike lights, and there was nothing more to see.
The passengers were crowded as close as they could pack, and as
there was an immense iron stove in the centre of the car, the heat
and stuffiness became most trying, although I had been undergoing
the ordeal of the stove-heated New York houses for nearly a week.
Once a minute, at least, the door at either end of the carriage was
opened, and then closed with a sharp crashing noise, that jarred
the nerves, and effectually prevented sleep. It generally was done
by a man whose sole object seemed to be to walk up the centre of
the carriage in order to go out of the opposite door--occasionally
it was the work of the newspaper boy, with a sheaf of journals and
trashy illustrated papers under his arm. Now and then it was the
conductor; but the periodical visitor was a young gentleman with a
chain and rings, who bore a tray before him, and solicited orders
for “gum drops,” and “lemon drops,” which, with tobacco, apples,
and cakes, were consumed in great quantities by the passengers.
At 10 o’clock, P.M., we crossed the river by a ferry-boat to
Philadelphia, and drove through the streets, stopping for supper a
few moments at the La Pierre Hotel. To judge from the vast extent
of the streets, of small, low, yet snug-looking houses, through
which we passed, Philadelphia must contain in comfort the largest
number of small householders of any city in the world. At the other
terminus of the rail, to which we drove in a carriage, we procured
for a small sum, a dollar I think, berths in a sleeping car, an
American institution of considerable merit. Unfortunately a party
of prize-fighters had a mind to make themselves comfortable, and
the result was anything but conducive to sleep. They had plenty of
whiskey, and were full of song and fight, nor was it possible to
escape their urgent solicitations “to take a drink,” by feigning
the soundest sleep. One of these, a big man, with a broken nose, a
mellow eye, and a very large display of rings, jewels, chains and
pins, was in very high spirits, and informed us he was “Going to
Washington to get a foreign mission from Bill Seward. He wouldn’t
take Paris, as he didn’t care much about French or Frenchmen; but
he’d just like to show John Bull how to do it; or he’d take Japan
if they were very pressing.” Another told us he was “Going to the
bosom of Uncle Abe” (meaning the President)--“that he knew him well
in Kentucky years ago, and a high-toned gentleman he was.” Any
attempts to persuade them to retire to rest made by the conductors
were treated with sovereign contempt, but at last whiskey asserted
its supremacy, and having established the point that they “would
not sleep unless they ---- pleased,” they slept and snored.
At six, A.M., we were roused up by the arrival of the train at
Washington, having crossed great rivers and traversed cities
without knowing it during the night. I looked out and saw a vast
mass of white marble towering above us on the left, stretching out
in colonnaded porticoes, and long flanks of windowed masonry, and
surmounted by an unfinished cupola, from which scaffold and cranes
raised their black arms. This was the Capitol. To the right was a
cleared space of mud, sand, and fields studded with wooden sheds
and huts, beyond which, again, could be seen rudimentary streets
of small red brick houses, and some church-spires above them.
Emerging from the station, we found a vociferous crowd of blacks,
who were the hackney-coachmen of the place; but Mr. Sanford had his
carriage in waiting, and drove me straight to Willard’s Hotel where
he consigned me to the landlord at the bar. Our route lay through
Pennsylvania avenue--a street of much breadth and length, lined
with ælanthus trees, each in a whitewashed wooden sentry-box, and
by most irregularly-built houses in all kinds of material, from
deal plank to marble--of all heights, and every sort of trade. Few
shop-windows were open, and the principal population consisted
of blacks, who were moving about on domestic affairs. At one end
of the long vista there is the Capitol; and at the other, the
Treasury buildings--a fine block in marble, with the usual American
classical colonnades.
Close to these rises the great pile of Willard’s Hotel, now
occupied by applicants for office, and by the members of the
newly-assembled Congress. It is a quadrangular mass of rooms,
six stories high, and some hundred yards square; and it probably
contains at this moment more scheming, plotting, planning heads,
more aching and joyful hearts, that any building of the same size
ever held in the world. I was ushered into a bed-room which had
just been vacated by some candidate--whether he succeeded or not
I cannot tell, but if his testimonials spoke truth, he ought to
have been selected at once for the highest office. The room was
littered with printed copies of letters testifying that J. Smith,
of Hartford, Conn., was about the ablest, honestest, cleverest,
and best man the writers ever knew. Up and down the long passages
doors were opening and shutting for men with papers bulging out of
their pockets, who hurried as if for their life in and out, and the
building almost shook with the tread of the candidature, which did
not always in its present aspect justify the correctness of the
original appellation.
It was a remarkable sight, and difficult to understand unless
seen. From California, Texas, from the Indian Reserves, and the
Mormon territory, from Nebraska, as from the remotest borders of
Minnesota, from every portion of the vast territories of the Union,
except from the Seceded States, the triumphant republicans had
winged their way to the prey.
There were crowds in the hall through which one could scarce make
his way--the writing-room was crowded, and the rustle of pens rose
to a little breeze--the smoking-room, the bar, the barbers, the
reception-room, the ladies’ drawing-room--all were crowded. At
present not less than 2,500 people dine in the public room every
day. On the kitchen floor there is a vast apartment, a hall without
carpets or any furniture but plain chairs and tables, which are
ranged in close rows, at which flocks of people are feeding, or
discoursing, or from which they are flying away. The servants never
cease shoving the chairs to and fro with a harsh screeching noise
over the floor, so that one can scarce hear his neighbour speak. If
he did, he would probably hear as I did, at this very hotel, a man
order breakfast, “Black tea and toast, scrambled eggs, fresh spring
shad, wild pigeon, pigs’ feet, two robins on toast, oysters,” and a
quantity of breads and cakes of various denominations. The waste
consequent on such orders is enormous--and the ability required to
conduct these enormous establishments successfully is expressed by
the common phrase in the States, “Brown is a clever man, but he
can’t manage an hotel.” The tumult, the miscellaneous nature of the
company--my friends the prize-fighters are already in possession
of the doorway--the heated, muggy rooms, not to speak of the great
abominableness of the passages and halls, despite a most liberal
provision of spittoons, conduce to render these institutions by
no means agreeable to a European. Late in the day I succeeded in
obtaining a sitting-room with a small bed-room attached, which
made me somewhat more independent and comfortable--but you must
pay highly for any departure from the routine life of the natives.
Ladies enjoy a handsome drawing-room, with piano, sofas, and easy
chairs, all to themselves.
I dined at Mr. Sanford’s, where I was introduced to Mr. Seward,
Secretary of State; Mr. Truman Smith, an ex-senator, much
respected among the Republican party; Mr. Anthony, a senator of
the United States, a journalist, a very intelligent-looking man,
with an Israelitish cast of face; Colonel Foster of the Illinois
railway, of reputation in the States as a geologist; and one or
two more gentlemen. Mr. Seward is a slight, middle-sized man, of
feeble build, with the stoop contracted from sedentary habits and
application to the desk, and has a peculiar attitude when seated,
which immediately attracts attention. A well-formed and large head
is placed on a long, slender neck, and projects over the chest in
an argumentative kind of way, as if the keen eyes were seeking
for an adversary; the mouth is remarkably flexible, large but
well-formed, the nose prominent and aquiline, the eyes secret,
but penetrating, and lively with humour of some kind twinkling
about them; the brow bold and broad, but not remarkably elevated;
the white hair silvery and fine--a subtle, quick man, rejoicing
in power, given to perorate and to oracular utterances, fond of
badinage, bursting with the importance of state mysteries, and
with the dignity of directing the foreign policy of the greatest
country--as all Americans think--in the world. After dinner he
told some stories of the pressure on the President for place,
which very much amused the guests who knew the men, and talked
freely and pleasantly of many things--stating, however, few facts
positively. In reference to an assertion in a New York paper, that
orders had been given to evacuate Sumter, “That,” he said, “is a
plain lie--no such orders have been given. We will give up nothing
we have--abandon nothing that has been entrusted to us. If people
would only read these statements by the light of the President’s
inaugural, they would not be deceived.” He wanted no extra
session of Congress. “History tells us that kings who call extra
parliaments lose their heads,” and he informed the company he had
impressed the President with his historical parallels.
All through this conversation his tone was that of a man very
sanguine, and with a supreme contempt for those who thought there
was anything serious in secession. “Why,” said he, “I myself, my
brothers, and sisters, have been all secessionists--we seceded
from home when we were young, but we all went back to it sooner
or later. These States will all come back in the same way,” I
doubt if he was ever in the South; but he affirmed that the state
of living and of society there was something like that in the
State of New York sixty or seventy years ago. In the North all was
life, enterprise, industry, mechanical skill. In the South there
was dependence on black labour, and an idle extravagance which
was mistaken for elegant luxury--tumble-down old hackney-coaches,
such as had not been seen north of the Potomac for half a century,
harness never cleaned, ungroomed horses, worked at the mill
one day and sent to town the next, badly furnished houses, bad
cookery, imperfect education. No parallel could be drawn between
them and the Northern States at all. “You are all very angry,”
he said, “about the Morrill tariff. You must, however, let us be
best judges of our own affairs. If we judge rightly, you have no
right to complain; if we judge wrongly, we shall soon be taught
by the results, and shall correct our error. It is evident that
if the Morrill tariff fulfils expectations, and raises a revenue,
British manufacturers suffer nothing, and we suffer nothing, for
the revenue is raised here, and trade is not injured. If the tariff
fails to create a revenue, we shall be driven to modify or repeal
it.”
The company addressed him as “Governor,” which led to Mr. Seward’s
mentioning that when he was in England he was induced to put his
name down with that prefix in a hotel book, and caused a discussion
among the waiters as to whether he was the “Governor” of a prison
or of a public company. I hope the great people of England treated
Mr. Seward with the attention due to his position, as he would
assuredly feel and resent very much any slight on the part of
those in high places. From what he said, however, I infer that he
was satisfied with the reception he had met in London. Like most
Americans who can afford it, he has been up the Nile. The weird old
stream has great fascinations for the people of the Mississippi--as
far at least as the first cataract.
_March 27th._--This morning, after breakfast, Mr. Sanford called,
according to promise, and took me to the State department. It is
a very humble--in fact, dingy--mansion, two stories high, and
situated at the end of the magnificent line of colonnade in white
marble, called the Treasury, which is hereafter to do duty as the
head-quarters of nearly all the public departments. People familiar
with Downing Street, however, cannot object to the dinginess of
the bureaux in which the foreign and state affairs of the American
Republic are transacted. A flight of steps leads to the hall-door,
on which an announcement in writing is affixed, to indicate the
days of reception for the various classes of persons who have
business with the Secretary of State; in the hall, on the right and
left, are small rooms, with the names of the different officers
on the doors--most of them persons of importance; half-way in the
hall a flight of stairs conducts us to a similar corridor, rather
dark, with doors on each side opening into the bureaux of the chief
clerks. All the appointments were very quiet, and one would see
much more bustle in the passages of a Poor Law Board or a parish
vestry.
In a moderately-sized, but very comfortable, apartment, surrounded
with book-shelves, and ornamented with a few engravings, we found
the Secretary of State seated at his table, and enjoying a cigar;
he received me with great courtesy and kindness, and after a time
said he would take occasion to present me to the President, who was
to give audience that day to the minister of the new kingdom of
Italy, who had hitherto only represented the kingdom of Sardinia.
I have already described Mr. Seward’s personal appearance; his son,
to whom he introduced me, is the Assistant-Secretary of State, and
is editor or proprietor of a journal in the State of New York,
which has a reputation for ability and fairness. Mr. Frederick
Seward is a slight delicate-looking man, with a high forehead,
thoughtful brow, dark eyes, and amiable expression; his manner is
very placid and modest, and, if not reserved, he is by no means
loquacious. As we were speaking, a carriage drove up to the door,
and Mr. Seward exclaimed to his father, with something like dismay
in his voice, “Here comes the Chevalier in full uniform!”--and
in a few seconds in effect the Chevalier Bertinatti made his
appearance, in cocked hat, white gloves, diplomatic suit of blue
and silver lace, sword, sash, and riband of the cross of Savoy. I
thought there was a quiet smile on Mr. Seward’s face as he saw his
brilliant companion, who contrasted so strongly with the more than
republican simplicity of his own attire. “Fred, do you take Mr.
Russell round to the President’s, whilst I go with the Chevalier.
We will meet at the White House.” We accordingly set out through
a private door leading to the grounds, and within a few seconds
entered the hall of the moderate mansion, White House, which has
very much the air of a portion of a bank or public office, being
provided with glass doors and plain heavy chairs and forms. The
domestic who was in attendance was dressed like any ordinary
citizen, and seemed perfectly indifferent to the high position of
the great personage with whom he conversed, when Mr. Seward asked
him, “Where is the President?” Passing through one of the doors on
the left, we entered a handsome spacious room, richly and rather
gorgeously furnished, and rejoicing in a kind of “_demi-jour_,”
which gave increased effect to the gilt chairs and ormolu
ornaments. Mr. Seward and the Chevalier stood in the centre of the
room, whilst his son and I remained a little on one side: “For,”
said Mr. Seward, “you are not to be supposed to be here.”
Soon afterwards there entered, with a shambling, loose, irregular,
almost unsteady gait, a tall, lank, lean man, considerably over
six feet in height, with stooping shoulders, long pendulous arms,
terminating in hands of extraordinary dimensions, which, however,
were far exceeded in proportion by his feet. He was dressed in an
ill-fitting, wrinkled suit of black, which put one in mind of an
undertaker’s uniform at a funeral; round his neck a rope of black
silk was knotted in a large bulb, with flying ends projecting
beyond the collar of his coat; his turned-down shirt-collar
disclosed a sinewy muscular yellow neck, and above that, nestling
in a great black mass of hair, bristling and compact like a ruff
of mourning pins, rose the strange quaint face and head, covered
with its thatch of wild republican hair, of President Lincoln. The
impression produced by the size of his extremities, and by his
flapping and wide projecting ears, may be removed by the appearance
of kindliness, sagacity, and the awkward bonhommie of his face; the
mouth is absolutely prodigious; the lips, straggling and extending
almost from one line of black beard to the other, are only kept
in order by two deep furrows from the nostril to the chin; the
nose itself--a prominent organ--stands out from the face, with
an inquiring, anxious air, as though it were sniffing for some
good thing in the wind; the eyes dark, full, and deeply set, are
penetrating, but full of an expression which almost amounts to
tenderness; and above them projects the shaggy brow, running into
the small hard frontal space, the development of which can scarcely
be estimated accurately, owing to the irregular flocks of thick
hair carelessly brushed across it. One would say that, although the
mouth was made to enjoy a joke, it could also utter the severest
sentence which the head could dictate, but that Mr. Lincoln would
be ever more willing to temper justice with mercy, and to enjoy
what he considers the amenities of life, than to take a harsh
view of men’s nature and of the world, and to estimate things in
an ascetic or puritan spirit. A person who met Mr. Lincoln in the
street would not take him to be what--according to the usages of
European society--is called a “gentleman;” and, indeed, since I
came to the United States, I have heard more disparaging allusions
made by Americans to him on that account than I could have expected
among simple republicans, where all should be equals; but, at
the same time, it would not be possible for the most indifferent
observer to pass him in the street without notice.
As he advanced through the room, he evidently controlled a desire
to shake hands all round with everybody, and smiled good-humouredly
till he was suddenly brought up by the staid deportment of Mr.
Seward, and by the profound diplomatic bows of the Chevalier
Bertinatti. Then, indeed, he suddenly jerked himself back, and
stood in front of the two ministers, with his body slightly drooped
forward, and his hands behind his back, his knees touching, and his
feet apart. Mr. Seward formally presented the minister, whereupon
the President made a prodigiously violent demonstration of his body
in a bow which had almost the effect of a smack in its rapidity and
abruptness, and, recovering himself, proceeded to give his utmost
attention, whilst the Chevalier, with another bow, read from a
paper a long address in presenting the royal letter accrediting him
as “minister resident;” and when he said that “the king desired to
give, under your enlightened administration, all possible strength
and extent to those sentiments of frank sympathy which do not cease
to be exhibited every moment between the two peoples, and whose
origin dates back as far as the exertions which have presided over
their common destiny as self-governing and free nations,” the
President gave another bow still more violent, as much as to accept
the allusion.
The minister forthwith handed his letter to the President, who
gave it into the custody of Mr. Seward, and then, dipping his
hand into his coat-pocket, Mr. Lincoln drew out a sheet of paper,
from which he read his reply, the most remarkable part of which
was his doctrine “that the United States were bound by duty not
to interfere with the differences of foreign governments and
countries.” After some words of compliment, the President shook
hands with the minister, who soon afterwards retired. Mr. Seward
then took me by the hand and said--“Mr. President, allow me to
present to you Mr. Russell, of the London ‘Times.’” On which Mr.
Lincoln put out his hand in a very friendly manner, and said, “Mr.
Russell, I am very glad to make your acquaintance, and to see you
in this country. The London ‘Times’ is one of the greatest powers
in the world,--in fact, I don’t know anything which has much more
power,--except perhaps the Mississippi. I am glad to know you as
its minister.” Conversation ensued for some minutes, which the
President enlivened by two or three peculiar little sallies, and I
left agreeably impressed with his shrewdness, humour, and natural
sagacity.
In the evening I dined with Mr. Seward, in company with his son,
Mr. Seward, junior, Mr. Sanford, and a quaint, natural specimen of
an American rustic lawyer, who was going to Brussels as Secretary
of Legation. His chief, Mr. Sanford, did not appear altogether
happy when introduced to his secretary, for he found that he had
a very limited knowledge (if any) of French, and of other things
which it is generally considered desirable that secretaries should
know.
Very naturally, conversation turned on politics. Although no man
can foresee the nature of the crisis which is coming, nor the mode
in which it is to be encountered, the faith of men like Mr. Sanford
and Mr. Seward in the ultimate success of their principles, and in
the integrity of the Republic, is very remarkable; and the boldness
of their language in reference to foreign powers almost amounts
to arrogance and menace, if not to temerity. Mr. Seward asserted
that the Ministers of England or of France had no right to make
any allusion to the civil war which appeared imminent; and that
the Southern Commissioners who had been sent abroad could not be
received by the Government of any foreign power, officially or
otherwise, even to hand in a document or to make a representation,
without incurring the risk of breaking off relations with the
Government of the United States. As regards the great object of
public curiosity, the relief of Fort Sumter, Mr. Seward maintains a
profound silence, beyond the mere declaration, made with a pleasant
twinkle of the eye, that “the whole policy of the Government,
on that and other questions, is put forth in the President’s
inaugural, from which there will be no deviation.” Turning to
the inaugural message, however, there is no such very certain
indication, as Mr. Seward pretends to discover, of the course to
be pursued by Mr. Lincoln and the cabinet. To an outside observer,
like myself, it seems as if they were waiting for events to develop
themselves, and rested their policy rather upon acts that had
occurred, than upon any definite principle designed to control or
direct the future.
I should here add that Mr. Seward spoke in high terms of the
ability, dexterity, and personal qualities of Mr. Jefferson Davis,
and declared his belief that but for him the Secession movement
never could have succeeded as far as it has gone, and would, in
all probability, indeed, have never taken place at all. After
dinner cigars were introduced, and a quiet little rubber of whist
followed. The Secretary is given to expatiate at large, and told us
many anecdotes of foreign travel;--if I am not doing him injustice,
I would say further, that he remembers his visit to England, and
the attention he received there, with peculiar satisfaction. He
cannot be found fault with because he has formed a most exalted
notion of the superior intelligence, virtue, happiness, and
prosperity of his own people. He said that it would not be proper
for him to hold any communication with the Southern Commissioners
then in Washington; which rather surprised me, after what I had
heard from their friend, Mr. Banks. On returning to my hotel,
I found a card from the President, inviting me to dinner the
following day.