November 21, 1861

Letter from Sir Arthur Kirkland in London to Matthew Williams in Quebec

My Dearest Matthew,

As I always do, I will begin by apologizing for paucity of my letters this summer. Parliament has been busier than usual this August, and that's to say nothing of India or Australia. I shan't bore you with the details, lest my migraine migrate across the Atlantic and afflict you, too. I know you have more than enough on your mind without my kvetching.

Before I say any more, I must first impart upon you the great appreciation I have for your thoughts and your willingness to speak your mind. You have had such a lovely way with words, ever since you were a boy. It is true that Mister Jones and I may never enjoy a positive relationship in this lifetime, but I know I will never separate you from your brother, and have no wish to do so. Likewise, I doubt I shall ever fully divest myself of my worry for him, though I admit most days that worry is not so much for his person, but for his penchant to spread guns and controversy wherever he goes. Unfortunately, I have had little news of him, and what little I have is, as I said, wrapped in controversy.

If the news has not yet reached Quebec, I'm sure it will soon. Two weeks ago, the United States Navy intercepted and boarded a vessel—MY vessel—the HMS Trent and removed—more like kidnapped—two Confederate officers. It was a mail packet, Matthew, a bloody mail packet! The Confederates were bound for London and later Paris, I think, attempting to woo Europe to their so-called righteous cause. All eloquence escapes me. The United States has infringed on the sanctity of neutrality, of naval law, of national honor. And all for what? To confiscate a couple of rebels who seek to throw away weeks of their lives in a pursuit of international recognition?

I'm almost tempted to side with the Confederacy and their kidnapped officers. This damn war is hurting our trade, and it's bound to get worse. The markets in Lancashire have already plunged into chaos with no cotton to feed the mills. The poorest families are already going hungry. If the Union blockade continues, Manchester will starve. It already wounds me, a sore shoulder I cannot shake. And yet, here I sit writing to you, taking up no quarrel with the Union or its chokehold on the Confederacy's exports, because I still hold a modicum of respect for naval law and the concept of neutrality. The only reason we've had any contact with Confederate officers is to ensure the Confederacy respects the Declaration of Paris. It has no bearing on the United States whatsoever. What gives the them the right to flaunt international pacts to prevent two men from speaking to me, to Francis? What are they so afraid of, that the Confederates would appear before the King? Before me? Who's to say I would listen? Who's to say they would receive any audience with anyone? They broke our trust on the grounds of a possibility, and a thin possibility at that.

I take no pleasure in saying this, Matthew, but the whole affair has become a true Controversy, and Parliament's displeasure here in London is reaching a fever pitch. Palmerston, my 'good friend' as you called him, is a friend of the Confederacy, and every day inches further towards the belief that cotton is more valuable than neutrality.

Should the United States issue an apology, I anticipate this entire Affair will disappear into tomorrow's news, but Lincoln seems resolute in his silence. I must assume he is bitter that we've named the Confederacy a Belligerent in the war, but such childlike grudge-holding is pointless. Negotiating with the Confederates over the Declaration of Paris is an economic necessity, neutrality or not. The Americans have construed our desperation for transatlantic trade as accomplice to the Confederate cause. If Lincoln cannot comprehend the difference between the two, I have nothing left to say to him.

It may surprise you, but I have received an apology from Alfred. It was horrendously short, but so well written it makes me wonder who helped him, or else where he finds the time to compose letters, what with the war. He seemed genuinely surprised and mortified by the entire offense, and while I appreciate his wish to make amends, he cannot change the fact that his President remains silent.

Before you ask, Alfred's letter contained no personal news, and I can only say that I find this as equally vexing as I'm sure you do. I have been hounding my ambassadors for months for any news, any word about Alfred and absolutely no one has any idea where the boy is. Whether he is on the battlefield or standing by Lincoln's side, no one can say. His letter was the most political and dispassionate dispatch I've received from him since before '76. It makes me almost more furious than if he'd said nothing. The worry he has caused you alone is worth more than the postage it took to send his letter to me, let alone the worry he has caused the rest of the world.

I do not know what else to say. I am still too furious to think clearly. I hope, I pray that this affair will not escalate to war. I have seen far worse transgressions dissolve overnight, but I have seen wars emerge from far less. I cannot say with any measure of certainty what this will mean for your brother, or for you. I must ask, however, that you search your own mind and steel your emotions against darker eventualities. We will stay neutral as long as we are possibly able, but I must ask that you fortify your borders and find whatever able-bodied men your colonies have to offer. You will be receiving Her Majesty's call to arms within the fortnight. I pray it is an exercise and nothing more. God only knows Alfred ought to have larger concerns at the present time.

If you hear from Alfred, tell me. I will do the same for you.

I am sorry to burden you with such tumultuous considerations, but I must ask you to take up my mantle in the New World, where I cannot be present with you. When all of this unpleasantness is over, I should very much like for you to visit London. Call me a sentimental old fool, but this Empire is never wanting for squalls, wars, and cantankerous old men, and your presence is ever a balm on my worry. Take care, Matthew.

Your Devoted Older Brother,

Arthur Kirkland, GBE

Historical Notes:

1. August 1861 was an especially busy legislative season for the 18th Parliament of Great Britain, and they passed many important Acts, including many laws codfiying the laws around Forgery, Larceny, Criminal Damage, as well as the Age of Consent, among others.

2. The Trent Affiar is exactly as it is described here: A British mail packet, the HMS Trent (a moderately sized ship built to ship postage, passengers, etc across the ocean) was intercepted by the USS San Jacinto, a frigate. The US Navy seized and removed two passengers who happened to be Confederate officers, James Murray Mason and John Slidell. The two were headed for Europe, specifically to Britain and France, where they hoped to plead the case of the Confederacy and gain international support. Lincoln never apologized for the event. The whole snafu was eventually resolved peacefully over December and January, but remains one of the most tense moments between the United States and Britain during the American Civil war. For this reason, it is the topic of some conversation in circles of alternate history, because for a month or so, it looked like the British Empire, at the height of its power, might actually throw its weight behind the Confederate States of America. And yes, it did compel Britain to strengthen it's military forces in Canada, just in case.

3. The American Civil War was disasterous for the textile markets around Europe, due to the Union blockade against Southern exports of cotton. In England specifically, this led to the Lancashire Cotton Famine of 1861-1865, which was an economic depression that led to low employment and in many cases, food shortages amongst worker populations, especially in the county of Lancashire where textile production was the primary industry.

4. The Declaration of Paris, or rather the Paris Declaration Respecting Maritime Law, was an 1856 diplomatic policy adopted by 55 nations (althought the United States did not agree to the original Declaration, they claimed they would respect the Declaration during the Civil War) that aimed to stop the practice of privateering, and protect laws of diplomatic neutrality at sea during times of war.