He did not realize how very prophetic his words would prove to be.

THE EXECUTIVE MANSION, WASHINGTON

NOVEMBER 15,1861

Wind-driven rain splattered against the office window; a cold draft of air whistled in around its ancient frame. John Hay, Abraham Lincoln’s secretary, added more coal to the fire and stirred it until the flames blazed high. The President looked up from his paper-strewn desk and nodded approvingly.

“A cold day, John — but not half as chill, I believe, as last evening at General McClellan’s home.”

“That man, sir, something must be done — ” Hay was spluttering with rage.

“There is very little to be done that I can think of. Even generals cannot be shot for impoliteness.”

“This was more than impoliteness — it was a downright insult to his Commander-in-Chief. While we sat in that room waiting for his return he did come back and went directly upstairs. Refusing to see you, the President!”

“I am indeed the President, yes, but not an absolute monarch, not quite yet. And not even an absolute President, since you will remember, as the Democratic politicians are so fond of reminding me, that I was elected with a minority of the popular vote. At times it appears that I have more opposition in Congress than I do in Richmond. Dealing with the quarrelsome Senate and House is very close to a full-time job.”

Lincoln ran his fingers through his thick mane of hair, looked out gloomily at the driving rain. “You must remember that first things come first — and the firstest thing of all is this terrible conflict that we are so deeply engaged in. In order to win this unhappy war I must rely on the generals and soldiers. It is a time for a great deal of patience and an even greater amount of sagacity — particularly with this young McClellan, General-in-Chief who is also Commander of the Army of the Potomac, which stands between this city and the enemy forces.”

“Stands is indeed the correct word. An army which drills and drills and gets more troops — and goes absolutely nowhere at a glacial speed.”

“Perfectly true. This war seems to have ground to a halt. It has been six months since the Rebels captured Fort Sumter and hostilities began. Since then only the success of the blockading squadrons gives me cheer. This year began with feelings of enmity and apprehension. We are building our army — and the Secessionists are doing the same. Since the battles of Bull Run and Ball’s Bluff there have only been minor skirmishes. Yet the tension continues to build. This war will not end easily and I fear the dreadful battles that are sure to come.” He looked up as the office door opened.

“Mr. President, I’m sorry to interrupt you,” his other secretary, John Nicolay, said. “But the Secretary of the Navy is here.”

Abraham Lincoln was tired, very tired. The papers on his desk and filling its pigeonholes multiplied daily. For every problem that was resolved two more seemed to spring up in its place. He had rested his hand on his head, and his long fingers were heedlessly rumpling his hair. He was glad of the distraction. “It’s no interruption, John. Send him through.”

“And the reports are here that you asked for — as well as these letters for you to sign.”

Lincoln sighed and pointed at the cluttered pigeonholes in the tall desk. “In with the rest, Nico, and I promise that they shall have my attention.”

He stood and stretched wearily, shuffling past the stern portrait of Andrew Jackson and over to the marble fireplace. He had his coattails lifted and was warming himself before the fire when Hay left and Secretary Welles came in; the President pointed at the paper he was carrying.

“I imagine that is a dispatch of some importance that you are holding in your hand,” Lincoln said.

Gideon Welles, the Secretary of the Navy, hid a shrewd brain behind his abundant chin whiskers and exotic wig. “Some exciting and interesting news has just arrived by military telegraph from Hampton Roads.” He started to pass over the sheet of paper but Lincoln held up a halting hand.

“Please then, tell me about it and save my weary eyes.”

“Simple enough to do, Mr. President. The screw sloop San Jacinto stopped in the port at Hampton Roads to refuel and the captain sent this message. They have Mason and Slidell aboard.”

“Now that is the kind of good news that is pretty rare around here.” The battered maplewood armchair creaked as Lincoln settled into it and leaned back, tenting his long fingers together. “I do believe that we will all sleep the better these nights with the knowledge that those two are not conspiring right across Europe, causing fierce kinds of mischief.”

“I’m afraid that the situation is not all that simple. As you know, since they escaped from the South and ran the blockade in the Gordon, they have been one step ahead of us all of the way. First in the Bahamas, then in Cuba. We have had a small fleet of ships tracking them down.”

“And now they have succeeded.”

“Indeed they have. However there is a complication. The rebels were not arrested on land, or taken from a Confederate vessel. That would have been perfectly legal during the present state of war. It appears however that they were taken from a British mail packet, the Trent. Which was stopped at sea.”

Lincoln thought deeply about this, then sighed. Like dragon’s teeth his troubles did multiply. “We must send for Seward. The Secretary of State will want to know about this at once. But how could this happen? Weren’t there orders issued about halting neutral ships at sea?”

“There were. But the captain of the San Jacinto never received them — and it appears that he had different orders altogether. He has been at sea some time and was supposed to return with his ship from Fernando Po, bring it to the navy yard. Nothing more. He must have heard of the chase when he returned and refueled. Since then he has proceeded on his own.”

“It shows an independence of spirit — though perhaps a bit misplaced.”

“Yes. I am given to understand that Captain Wilkes has a very independent spirit. In fact some in the navy call it insubordination and bad temper.”

The door opened and Seward came in.

“Read this, William,” the President said. “Then we will decide what must be done.”

The Secretary of State quickly scanned the dispatch, frowning as he did so. Always a cautious man, and one not given to precipitate decisions, he read it again, more slowly this time. Then tapped it with his index finger.

“Two things strike me at once. Firstly these traitors must be secured safely under lock and key. We have them now and we do not want to lose them. I suggest, Gideon, that you telegraph the San Jacinto’s commander that as soon as his vessel has refueled he is to proceed at once to New York City. Further instructions will await him there.”

Lincoln nodded. “I agree. While he is making his passage we can give serious thought as to what we should do with these men now that we have them in our hands.”

“I am in complete agreement as well,” Welles said, then hurried to give the order.

There was a sudden loud barking from under the President’s desk and Welles started. Lincoln smiled at him.

“Have no fear — this dog does not bite,” he said as the boy burst from his hiding place, grinning from ear to ear as he hugged his father’s long legs.

“Our Willie is a great lad,” Lincoln said as the boy ran happily from the room. “Some day he will be a great man — I feel that in my bones.” His smile faded away. “But those same bones are feeling a certain disquiet over this Trent affair.” The President’s first pleasure at hearing the news now gave way to a feeling of dark premonition. “I can well imagine what your second consideration is going to be. What repercussions must we look forward to when word reaches London ? Our friends the British are already bothered about this war of rebellion, as they tell us quite often.”