1862 (32 page)

“Through the good offices of the Papal States,” he said hoarsely, I’ve been informed that my dear wife has passed away in Rome. She died of her cancers more than a month ago.”

She knelt on the floor beside him and took his shaking hand in hers. Despite his size and bulk, he was astonishingly frail. A tear welled up in his eye and spilled down his cheek.

“I am so sorry, General,” Rebecca said.

Scott sighed deeply. “My greatest regret is that we hadn’t the chance to say good-bye. Perhaps we shall meet again in a better place.”

Rebecca choked back her own sob. “I’m certain of it.”

“If it hadn’t been for this damned war, I’d’ve been with her. I left her there in Europe while I returned to Washington. I never dreamed she would be unable to return home. More likely, though, she was unwilling. She knew she was gravely ill, and went to France and Rome hoping for a miracle. She didn’t realize that every day of life is its own miracle.”

Rebecca said nothing. It was hard to imagine a giant of the century so distraught and helpless. She continued to hold his hand. Fromm and the housekeeper, Bridget, had heard the news and arrived to give their condolences.

After several minutes, Scott released Rebecca’s hand and stood up. “Enough. I shall mourn later. Now there is work to do. Mrs. Devon, Nathan thinks highly of you and I think highly of Nathan. With him gone, I have no one to operate as an aide or messenger. Will you assist me until he returns?”

Rebecca was astonished. It was not something women did. “I shall be happy to do what I can within the constraints imposed on my gender.”

“Good. Where a male is required, Sergeant Fromm shall do; however, he is not skilled at taking or deciphering messages, are you, Sergeant?” Fromm grinned. “No, sir, but I can knock a man like Pinkerton along his head again, if you’d like.” Scott nodded. “Are you aware, Mrs. Devon, that I had Fromm follow Pinkerton, and that he found him on the grounds of Mrs. D’Estaing’s home?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Fromm said. “He was fixin’ to climb a ladder up to the second floor, where voices were comin’ from, when I hit him. Don’t know what he would have found since it was all women’s voices.” He didn’t add that he’d seen the voluptuous Valerie D’Estaing standing marvelously and totally nude in the window as he’d crept away. It had been a marvelous view, but not one he’d mention in front of a lady.

Rebecca paled. Pinkerton had been within moments of catching her as a victim of Valerie D’Estaing’s sexual depravities. But then she settled herself. No one knew anything other than that she had been the weekend guest of a lady friend who had subsequently returned to France. As for Pinkerton, he was in disgrace. He had been found the next morning gagged, blindfolded, naked, and chained to a hitching post on Pennsylvania Avenue, just across from Treasury. He had also been painted red. A sign saying “Peeping Tom” hung around his neck. The public humiliation had been too much for Pinkerton and he had returned to Chicago.

Rebecca smiled at Fromm, who almost melted until he caught Bridget glaring at him. “Sergeant, I doubt that I shall need you to knock anyone’s skull, but I otherwise think we shall make a good team.”

In the depths of his not-totally-unexpected grief, Scott understood that Mrs. Devon was of much stronger stuff than her cretin of a thieving husband. It would appear that she was a match for Nathan Hunter. Good, he thought.

“That is settled, then,” Scott said. “I need to be alone. Mrs. Devon, if you would be so kind as to come here tomorrow morning, I would appreciate it.”

He didn’t truly need a clerk or an assistant, but he felt she could be useful as well at making an empty house somewhat less so. In the meantime, Scott thought, I wish to weep for my beloved wife.

   It had taken almost two weeks for the British army to snake its way out of Hamilton and reach the Union positions. Much of the delay was caused by the need to surreptitiously replace the British regulars garrisoning the Niagara forts with Canadian militia.

When the British finally arrived near the Union camps, Cardigan deployed the Scottish Division on his left, or south of Dundas Street, and the British Division on his right, or north of Dundas. The two divisions were arrayed in double ranks and took up about a mile and a half in total length. The Canadian Division was in reserve, less than half a mile away from the front.

The British had arrived at their final positions late in the afternoon and, along with the Americans, had spent the rest of the day and evening scouting and deploying. When done, both armies tried to spend some of the night in sleep. It was difficult, as there was the fear of what the morning would bring, along with the intermittent but persistent rattle of small-arms fire as the two armies probed each other for weaknesses.

Thus, it was before dawn when Viscount Monck found Brigadier General Garnet Wolsey in his tent, alert, dressed, and conferring with his aides. Wolsey was totally surprised by the visit. Monck wanted to talk in private, so Wolsey excused the others.

“I want you to know how much confidence I have in you, General Wolsey.”

“I’m honored, sir.”

“Did you know that I requested you?” Monck said. Wolsey had not. “What you did at London was splendid, but now we must fight. I have the greatest confidence that you will not throw away the lives of the men entrusted to your care.”

“Thank you: sir.” Wolsey was deeply touched.

Monck chuckled. “By the way, Mr. McGee is with me, although this time as a journalist and not a would-be general.”

Wolsey laughed. “The best thing for him and for Canada.” The sun was rising. There was no longer any need for oil lamps or candles. A shout went up from outside and both men left Wolsey’s tent. A great gray blob had arisen from the mist of the Union lines and stood over them like a giant, obscene mushroom that floated in the sky.

“A balloon,” Monck said. “The damned Americans have a balloon to spy on us. What are we going to do about it?”

As if in answer, a couple of British cannon opened fire on it, to no avail. “As you can see, Governor, we will not do very much at all. That thing is almost a thousand feet in the air and rising higher. Our guns cannot elevate that high. We might stand a chance when it is closer to the ground, but by then it would serve no purpose.”

“I’ve never seen one in battle.” said Monck.

“Nor I, although we’d heard that the Union was making use of them.”

As he spoke, something fluttered down from the cupola of the balloon. “A message tied to a weight,” Wolsey said grimly. “Probably a map drawn to show our dispositions. I wouldn’t be surprised if there is a telegraph machine in the damned thing.”

Monck was clearly concerned. “Then they shall know everything about us, won’t they? We shall not be able to surprise them at all, although they seem to have surprised us with that contraption.”

Indeed, thought Wolsey. This was not going to be a gigantic battle, and the balloon’s occupants could doubtless see the entire field. There were no hills to speak of and much of the land was plowed and cleared farmer’s fields whose crops were being trampled by thousands of feet. No, Lord Cardigan would not be able to surprise the Americans. On the other hand, he wondered just how many more of their own surprises the Americans had up their sleeves.

Nathan declined the invitation to go aloft in the observation balloon. He assured both Rawlins and Grant that his feet were planted firmly on the ground. Inwardly, the thought of going so high above the ground in such a frail vessel terrified him. It would take a special kind of person to leave the comforts of mother earth, he decided, and he was not one of them.

As at London, he and Rawlins rode to where they could see the British dispositions. The lines of red were precise and impressive. They could hear the faint sounds of drums and the skirl of bagpipes as the two men rode along the front from the British to the Scottish positions. This was not a mob of farmers as they had seen at London, nor was it Confederates in dirty gray or homespun butternut. These were professionals of the highest order. For the first time, Nathan realized that they were confronting the army of the mightiest empire on the face of the earth. In recent years, the British army had beaten Russia in the Crimea, and put down a savage rebellion in India. Who would fare best this day, the scarlet of Great Britain or the blue of the United States?

“The legions of Rome against the barbarian hordes,” said Nathan. “I just wonder which of us is the barbarian.”

“If they support the Confederacy and slavery, then England is the barbarian,” Rawlins said angrily.

All during the night and part of the morning, they had labored over orders from Grant to his generals, Grant was an excellent writer of terse, easy-to-understand directives, which Nathan had copied and distributed properly, while Rawlins stayed pretty much out of the way, Now, with battle threatening to erupt all around them, there was little left for them to do, Even Grant had commented that events were largely out of their hands. Now it was up to others to implement what had been designed.

Cannon fire erupted. Nathan checked his watch. “Eight thirty-five,” he said. He would note the tine of battle in his records.

“Ours or theirs?’: asked Rawlins. “Which came first?”

“Don’t know, and I don’t think it matters. In a little while, the British will attack.”

“Any chance they won’t?”

Nathan shook his head. The cannon firing had reached a thunderous crescendo as guns from both sides sought targets. Nathan hoped he and Rawlins were inconspicuous. “They’ll attack. They didn’t march all the way out here just to look at us.”

This had been the topic of discussion and the basis of Grant’s planning. The British would attack because they had to attack. Cardigan could not retreat without looking like a coward or a fool. Nathan thought he might be the latter but certainly not the former.

There was a shift in the sound of the firing. Now it seemed to be concentrated towards the south, where the Scots were arrayed against the corps of General George Thomas. To the north, the well-scouted English Division was confronted by W. F. Smith’s corps. Despite the differences in terminology, the two forces were approximately equal, as an American corps approximated a British division.

George Thomas, who had served under Halleck, had been recently promoted to major general. He was considered a solid professional, and, at forty-six, one of the older generals. W. F. “Baldy” Smith was a replacement for the recently deceased C. F. Smith. Although outspoken to the point where he alienated people, Baldy Smith was considered to be a competent general.

There was some concern that only Lew Wallace’s division was in reserve, but keeping a large reserve was not part of Grant’s battle plan.

“What do you think?” asked Rawlins as they rode briskly back to headquarters. There might not be much for them to do once the battle was joined, but Grant’s headquarters was where they were supposed to be.

“I think,” Nathan answered, “that the British are going to attack our right. And now we shall find out whether our planning was good.”

Neither man mentioned that the next few hours would go a long ways towards determining whether or not the United States would be accepted as a major power by the other nations of the world. A victory would be a major step forward, while a defeat and a subsequent retreat towards Detroit would make the Union a laughingstock among nations, perhaps even end the war in favor of Great Britain and the Confederacy.

The battle had been raging for several hours when a courier from Lord Cardigan ordered Wolsey to send one of his Canadian brigades forward to the center of the British line. As he gave the orders to comply, Viscount Monck rode up. He was clearly distressed on finding that his untrained and extremely nervous Canadians were going into battle.

“General, what is Cardigan up to?”

“I got precious little information from the courier, but it does appear that General Campbell has either found or turned the Union flank. His men are moving in that direction, which would leave a gap in our lines if something wasn’t done to plug it.”

“Too many are dying today.” Monck said.

A steady stream of wounded had been winding its way back to the field hospitals. The sight of the gore had shaken the inexperienced Canadians. Many of the wounded had lost limbs or been blinded, or even castrated, by shell fragments. It was a sight to disturb even the most experienced soldier, and few of the Canadians had been in battle before.

Wolsey wondered if the governor had somehow hoped to fight a bloodless war, frightening the Americans back across their border without losing any men. If so, he was being sadly brought back to reality.

A second courier arrived and another brigade was sent marching towards the smoke and the thunderous gunfire. This left one brigade and only about three thousand men in the total reserve.

“You look uncomfortable,” Monck commented.

“I am, sir. I wonder if the Union flank is truly being turned or if they are simply refusing it.”

“What do you mean?”

“If we have actually turned their flank, then we are threatening their rear. This would compel them to retreat and the day would be ours. However, if they are simply maneuvering and have turned their flank inward, they are denying their rear to us and have created a situation where they can maneuver more freely with the advantage of interior lines. If it is the latter, we are horribly vulnerable to a counterattack since we have extended our lines so much to swallow theirs that we have precious few men to resist such an attack.”

“Did you know the telegraph line to Toronto isn’t working?” Monck said.

Wolsey paled. He hadn’t known. The line had originally run from Toronto to Windsor and had been functioning, at least from Toronto to Cardigan’s headquarters, a short while before.

“Perhaps it was a natural break,” Monck said hopefully.

“More likely Union cavalry,” Wolsey said. The lack of British cavalry angered him. Cardigan had gone into battle with only one squadron of British dragoons, and a few hundred Canadians who were so bad that they referred to themselves as “farmers on horseback” and thought it a compliment.