University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER V.

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 sympathizing 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 recognized and established
aids 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 favorable
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 sidewalks, 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 a 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 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 ten 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 white-washed 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, than any
building of the same size ever held in the world. I was
ushered into a bedroom 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 barber's, 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 neighbor

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 bedroom 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 humor 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 intrusted 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 labor, 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 ribbon 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-humoredly 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, humor, 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;—it
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.