London Dec. 17th/1862
My dear Hector.
It would be a poor expression of my feelings to say that I was gratified and interested by the perusal of your letter.2 I had long thought of you, and my thoughts regarding you were sometimes dark in the extreme, knowing as I did the fearful chances to which you were exposed. But your letter crossed this darkness like a sunbeam and made my spirit leap for joy. Even the recognition of your handwriting did this. Still after having seen it I did not expect the intelligence which your letter conveyed, and it is a long time since I read anything which affected me more powerfully. However we may differ on minor points the constitutional affinity between you and me is very strong, and you know I am not insensible to any act in which the greatness of the human heart comes into play: I walked with your brigade into that fearful fight, I heard the roar of cannon and the whistle of the shot, and I think had I been there in the body I should have struck my stroke as well as another. Your account is thrilling;—somewhat wild, but it is grand in its wildness, and I love to see the fiery blood of old Vilvordan3 rushing in this fashion. If those two brave men who bore you from the field should ever come to England pray send them to me: the best a poor man can offer shall be at their service. I never doubted that you would fight if called upon to do so, but I often inarticulately prayed that you might never have the chance. The gods declined my prayer, but answered it in their own fashion. For surely the next best thing to answering it by granting it, is the answer actually vouchsafed. It is a great thing—a thing to be remembered for generations—to have come so near to death under such grand conditions and still not to have crossed the bourne. This day I repeated your account of the behaviour of your men to a member of the Athenaeum4—a son of old Dr. Prout,5 the Bridgewater Treatises6 man—His eye glistened, for he is a great Northerner: and he exclaimed “such men will lick the South to bits!”—I do not agree with him. Still I never entertained a doubt that there are thousands in the North who pursue this way on the same high grounds that animate yourself, but are they majority?
I cannot describe to you the joy of poor Hirst when I put your note into his hands and told him of your escape. He will soon be free for a few weeks from his present entanglements and will then write to you. We complied with your request and drank in full bumper the health of yourself and your wife. I can well believe that she tended you like an angel. Her depth of feeling—her love for you—were not hidden from me under her quiet demeanour in London. But hang it, you never gave me time to be quiet, or to show any sympathy with her gentleness. You were continually firing hot shot into me so that when near you I was compelled to encase my heart in sheet iron. Still old fellow much as I opposed you, much as I should oppose you tomorrow on many points, I cannot shut my eyes to that grandeur of soul which enables you to appreciate the noble behaviour of your men. I am going to pray that I might not have to meet such men when the Americans come to “destroy” England. I say let them come,—They will find a home-Stroke in the arm of England yet. And I trust when they ‘come to grief’, as they are sure to do if they come to England, that English hearts will be found to imitate their noble example & to treat them as vanquished heroes. For the present unhappy situation of England & America,7 the American press is primarily to blame. This country has no sympathy with slavery, but you have goaded us to madness by your bullying and vituperation. You think we wanted to quarrel about the Trent8—To us the case was one of black necessity—99 out of every 100 Englishmen believed at the time that America wanted to fasten a quarrel upon us. You know Faraday,—he is as gentle as a child, as tender as a woman. On the occasion of the Trent affair he came down to me in the laboratory and said “Well Tyndall, they are determined to quarrel with us. Let them have their wish, let us go at it.” And your cousin said the same; for with every one of us it was the profound and sad conviction that you wished to fasten a quarrel upon us. No doubt you hate us as you have so often & so indignantly proclaimed and that blood will be the end of this feeling is only too probable. This perhaps is the only way in which England can be taught her weakness, or America be made to feel that this land of “old and just renown”9 is not to pass like a scroll at the demand of a Yankee orator. My dear Hector it is the earnest wish of our hearts to live peaceably with you, but we are not in the least afraid of you. Remember that & let us stand in each other’s presence as men who mutually respect each other, but who feel that fear is felt on neither side. You know my friend Huxley—he has the reputation of a fighting man, and he appears to have worsted Owen10 in many a conflict—Huxley & I have always been in harmony & one element of this harmony is that each knows that the other is not afraid of him. Our relations therefore are those of free men, and they are likely to be permanent. So it is with nations. Let America feel that England is not afraid of her,—Let England feel that America is not afraid of her and all will be right. I would be shot nine times over sooner than submit to your dictation, and I think you would be shot ten times over before you would submit to mine. This is as it ought to be, and let both of us recognize the fact.
But hang such differences—my main object is to express the relief from anxiety which your letter has brought me. I shall cease to look upon your portrait with the gloomy enquiry “Is he alive or dead.” Debus has your letter at present & I doubt not he and others will read it with an interest almost equal to my own. But I do not think they can feel the pride that I feel in finding a man of my blood acquitting himself so honourably. Good bye dear Hector—give my kindest regards to your wife11 and sister,12 and believe me ever
Your affectionate cousin | John Tyndall
This has just come as I was about to post my letter.13
RI MS JT/1/T/1446
RI MS JT/1/TYP/1644–8
Tyndall enclosed letter 1952 with this letter, which he had just received from Heinrich Debus.
your letter: letter 1946.
old Vilvordan: probably William Tyndale.
Athenaeum: see letter 1907, n. 7.
Dr. Prout: William Prout (1785–1850), an English chemist, physician, and natural theologian. Prout was author of one of the Bridgewater Treatises, worked on atomic weights, and developed the classification of foodstuffs into protein, carbohydrates, and fats (ODNB). He had six children; the identity of the son mentioned here remains unclear.
Bridgewater Treatises: in order to support the scientific ideas of the time, which explored the natural world within Paley’s framework of a divine designer, Francis Henry Egerton (1756–1829), 8th Earl of Bridgewater, a gentleman naturalist, commissioned eight Bridgewater Treatises upon his deathbed to explore ‘the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God, as manifested in the Creation’ (ODNB). They were first published between 1833–40. Prout’s was the eighth in the series, Chemistry, Meteorology, and the Function of Digestion, considered with reference to Natural Theology Theology (1834).
the present unhappy situation of England & America: Britain remained officially neutral during the American Civil War (1861–5). However, public opinions varied with elites favoring and sympathizing with the Confederacy. In 1862, Britain ceased trade with the Confederacy which officially put a great strain on the British economy.
about the Trent: often referred to as the ‘Trent Affair’ in which the Union Navy captured, against treaty rules, two Confederate diplomats from British ships. The affair caused a great public outcry between the two sides and Britain.
“old and just renown”: a misquote of line 10 from Alfred Tennyson’s poem ‘You Ask Me, Tho Ill at Ease’ (1833). The correct line is ‘A land of just and old renown’ (A. Tennyson, Poems, 2 vols (London: Edward Moxon, 1842), vol. 1, p. 219–20).
Owen: Richard Owen.
wife: Julia Tyndale.
sister: Elizabeth Mitchell.
This has just come as I was about to post my letter: see n. 1.
Please cite as “Tyndall1953,” in Ɛpsilon: The John Tyndall Collection accessed on