newspaper in an effort to keep England from going into the Civil War on the side of the South.
His speechmaking was shrewd. He realized that many British laborers could not afford to hear him and that many white-collar workers would not want to hear him, so he offered to speak gratis on behalf of local charities. Into his appearances he injected the atmosphere of a revival meeting; Often he led off by singing “De Camptown Races,” then invited the audience to join him in the chorus. It was fun. And what followed was often fun, too. After the bombardment of Fort Sumter, Train told listeners: “We invented railways and Mississippi steamboats. We have invented a new kind of war, fighting without killing anybody forty hours of bombardment and no bloodshed.”
Because the Union had no voice in the London press, Train financed his own propaganda sheet, the London American , published at 100 Fleet Street in a building decorated with the Stars and Stripes. The paper, which Train claimed had received a $100 contribution from Secretary of State Seward, frankly expounded the Northern cause and reprinted all of its publisher’s speeches.
Two incidents early in the war transformed Train’s campaign from one of wit to one of intemperate bombast, and dangerously imperiled his person. The first was the reporting of the first Battle of Bull Run by the austere London Times . The second was the outcry of the entire English press against the boarding of the British mail-steamer Trent by Union Navy men.
The Times had sent its renowned correspondent, William H. Russell, a veteran of the Crimean War and the Sepoy Mutiny, on a tour of the United States. Russell reported that most Americans, influenced by Irish immigrants, disliked England. He made sly innuendoes about certain American democratic institutions such as the “street-railway-car.” He met Lincoln and found himself “agreeably impressed with his shrewdness, humor, and natural sagacity,” but doubted that he was a gentleman. All of this alarmed Train, but did not ruffle his sense of humor. As he remarked from one rostrum: “I can tell you, gentlemen, it is a notorious fact when The Times takes snuff all England sneezes.”
Then came Bull Run. The citizenry of the North was demanding action. Union troops, in great number, were prematurely sent marching on Richmond. Between Washington and Richmond were four rivers and many streams. One of these streams, thirty miles west of Washington, was called Bull Run. There the outnumbered Confederate soldiery engaged the advancing Army of the Potomac in the first major clash of the war.
From Washington spectators in wagons, ladies in carriages, and politicians on horseback hurried to a nearby hill to watch the progress of the battle. Among these spectators was Russell. As the day wore on, military wagons approached the spectators. Then came Union soldiers fleeing in great disorder and confusion, insisting that they were being pursued by Confederate cavalry. “I spoke to the men,” Russell wrote, “and asked them over and over again not to be in such a hurry. ‘There’s no enemy to pursue you. All the cavalry in the world could not get at you.’ But I might as well have talked to stones.” Russell reported that when he challenged the cowardice of one Union soldier, the man tried to shoot him, but his pistol jammed. Two days later, in Washington, Russell continued to watch the retreat, “the jaded, dispirited, broken remnants of regiments passing onward, where and for what I knew not.”
To Train, reading these accounts in London, Russell seemed to be viciously slanting his news blaming the defeat at Bull Run on Northern inability and fear rather than on inexperience. At once Train struck out at The Times correspondent in print and on the lecture platform. He labeled the correspondent “Munchausen Russell” and “The English Libeler.” He accused Russell of being a drunk and a liar. He attacked Russell for presenting “an
His speechmaking was shrewd. He realized that many British laborers could not afford to hear him and that many white-collar workers would not want to hear him, so he offered to speak gratis on behalf of local charities. Into his appearances he injected the atmosphere of a revival meeting; Often he led off by singing “De Camptown Races,” then invited the audience to join him in the chorus. It was fun. And what followed was often fun, too. After the bombardment of Fort Sumter, Train told listeners: “We invented railways and Mississippi steamboats. We have invented a new kind of war, fighting without killing anybody forty hours of bombardment and no bloodshed.”
Because the Union had no voice in the London press, Train financed his own propaganda sheet, the London American , published at 100 Fleet Street in a building decorated with the Stars and Stripes. The paper, which Train claimed had received a $100 contribution from Secretary of State Seward, frankly expounded the Northern cause and reprinted all of its publisher’s speeches.
Two incidents early in the war transformed Train’s campaign from one of wit to one of intemperate bombast, and dangerously imperiled his person. The first was the reporting of the first Battle of Bull Run by the austere London Times . The second was the outcry of the entire English press against the boarding of the British mail-steamer Trent by Union Navy men.
The Times had sent its renowned correspondent, William H. Russell, a veteran of the Crimean War and the Sepoy Mutiny, on a tour of the United States. Russell reported that most Americans, influenced by Irish immigrants, disliked England. He made sly innuendoes about certain American democratic institutions such as the “street-railway-car.” He met Lincoln and found himself “agreeably impressed with his shrewdness, humor, and natural sagacity,” but doubted that he was a gentleman. All of this alarmed Train, but did not ruffle his sense of humor. As he remarked from one rostrum: “I can tell you, gentlemen, it is a notorious fact when The Times takes snuff all England sneezes.”
Then came Bull Run. The citizenry of the North was demanding action. Union troops, in great number, were prematurely sent marching on Richmond. Between Washington and Richmond were four rivers and many streams. One of these streams, thirty miles west of Washington, was called Bull Run. There the outnumbered Confederate soldiery engaged the advancing Army of the Potomac in the first major clash of the war.
From Washington spectators in wagons, ladies in carriages, and politicians on horseback hurried to a nearby hill to watch the progress of the battle. Among these spectators was Russell. As the day wore on, military wagons approached the spectators. Then came Union soldiers fleeing in great disorder and confusion, insisting that they were being pursued by Confederate cavalry. “I spoke to the men,” Russell wrote, “and asked them over and over again not to be in such a hurry. ‘There’s no enemy to pursue you. All the cavalry in the world could not get at you.’ But I might as well have talked to stones.” Russell reported that when he challenged the cowardice of one Union soldier, the man tried to shoot him, but his pistol jammed. Two days later, in Washington, Russell continued to watch the retreat, “the jaded, dispirited, broken remnants of regiments passing onward, where and for what I knew not.”
To Train, reading these accounts in London, Russell seemed to be viciously slanting his news blaming the defeat at Bull Run on Northern inability and fear rather than on inexperience. At once Train struck out at The Times correspondent in print and on the lecture platform. He labeled the correspondent “Munchausen Russell” and “The English Libeler.” He accused Russell of being a drunk and a liar. He attacked Russell for presenting “an
Similar Books
