Stars & Stripes Triumphant (15 page)

"Hear, hear," Fox said, raising his glass as well.

"Gentlemen, I thank you." The Count smiled and settled back in the chair with a sigh.

"What is next?" Sherman asked.

"Ireland. We are now on a northwest heading to stay clear of Anglesey and the Welsh coast. In a few hours we head due west for Ireland and DublinHarbor. We will arrive around daybreak. And then—what happens next is up to you, General. My part of our interesting tour of exploration is finished. I will have
Aurora
repaired in Ireland, then will sail north to Russia, since these waters are no longer as friendly as they once were."

"I'm sorry about that," Sherman said. "About the end of your friendship with the English—"

"Please don't be! Ever since the Crimean War, my friendship has been nothing but a sham. In a way I am glad that the playacting is over. They are now as much my enemy as they are yours." His face grew grim. "Will there be war?"

"That I do not know," Sherman said. "All I know is that if war does come, we will be prepared for it. With all thanks due to you."

"It was all worth doing if you obtained the military intelligence that you needed."

"I did indeed."

"Good. Then—a single favor. If there are hostilities, would you recommend me for a post in your navy?"

"With all my heart—"

"And I as well!" Commander Wilson cried loudly. "I know that if you were my commander I would be proud to serve under you, anytime, sir."

"I am most grateful..."

Only Fox demurred. "I'll be sorry to lose you."

"I understand. But I have had enough of stealth, of creeping about in the darkness. I will see that you will still have all of the assistance that we can possibly supply. When next I go to war I hope that it will be aboard one of your magnificent fighting ships. That is what I want very much to do."

"You must tell us how to contact you," Sherman said. "With a little luck we'll be out of Ireland without setting a foot on dry land. After the British raids there is always an American navy ship or two stationed in Dublin. That will be our transportation."

"A cable to the Russian Navy Department will quickly reach me. Now—I wish you Godspeed."

The rain had cleared away during the night and the wet rooftops of Dublin glinted golden in the rising sun as they passed the Pigeon Coop lighthouse and entered the Liffey.

"There is an ironclad tied up by the customs house," Korzhenevski said, peering through his binoculars.

"May I look, sir, I beg of you!" Wilson said with obvious excitement. He raised the glasses and took only the briefest of glances. "Yes, indeed, I thought so. It is my ship, the
Dictator.
A good omen indeed."

Sherman nodded. "You are indeed right, Commander. The best of omens. President Lincoln, when we parted, insisted that I report to him as soon as our mission had been accomplished. I think that your commanding officer will go along with a command from his commander in chief and provide me the needed transportation."

They bade their farewells to the Count and boarded the ship's boat; their luggage had already been stowed aboard. They waved good-bye to the Count and the little ship. At a shouted command all of the sailors aboard her snapped to attention and saluted.

"I shall miss her," Wilson said. "She's a grand, stouthearted little vessel."

"With a fine captain," Sherman said. "We owe a great debt to the Count."

When they boarded the
Dictator,
they discovered that she was preparing to go to sea. In the wardroom Captain Toliver himself told them why.

"Of course you would not have heard—I've just been informed myself.
Virginia
stopped at Cork on the way home. Telegraphed me here. She has been in battle. Apparently she was attacked by a British ironclad."

"What happened?" Sherman asked, his words loud in the shocked silence.

"Sunk her, of course. Only proper thing to do."

"Then it means..."

"It means the President and the government must decide what must be done next," Sherman said.

Captain Toliver nodded agreement. "There will be new orders for all of us. I hope that you will sail with us, General; you as well, Mr. Fox. I am sure that Washington will have assignments for us all."

To say that the British were perturbed by the sinking would be the most masterful of understatements. The ha'penny newspapers frothed; the
Thunderer
thundered. Parliament was all for declaring war on the spot. The Prime Minister, Lord Palmerston, was summoned by the Queen. It was an exhausting two hours that he passed in her presence. Lord John Russell waited patiently at Number 10 for his return. Looked up from his papers when there was first a rattling at the door, and then it was pushed wide. One of the porters stepped in, then opened the door as far as it would go. A bandage-wrapped foot came through first, gingerly followed by the rest of Lord Palmerston, seated in a bath chair that was pushed by a second porter. A moment's inattention caused a wheel of the chair to brush against the man who was holding the door open. Palmerston gasped out loud and lashed out with his gold-headed stick. But it was a feeble blow and the porter merely cringed away. Russell put down the sheaf of papers that he had been studying and rose to his feet.

"I have read through all of the armament proposals," he said. "They all seem most sensible and very much in order."

"They should be. I drew them up myself."

Palmerston grunted with the effort as he pulled himself out of the bath chair and dropped into the armchair behind his massive desk, then waved a dismissing hand at the porters. He took a kerchief from his sleeve and mopped his face and did not speak again until the door had closed and they were alone.

"Her Majesty was unconscionably unreasonable today. Thinks we should go to war by tomorrow morning at the very latest. Silly woman. I talked of preparations, organization, mustering of troops until I was blue in the face. In the end I just outlasted her. She summoned her ladies-in-waiting and swept out."

Palmerston spoke in a thin voice, very different from his normal assertive self. Lord Russell was worried, but knew enough not to speak his reservations aloud. After all, Palmerston was in his eighties, tormented by gout—in addition to all the usual ailments of old age.

"She has been like that very much of late," Russell said.

"The German strain has always had its weaknesses—not to say madness. But of late I despair of obtaining any cooperation or reasonable response from her. Yes, she despises the Yankees and wishes to exact a high price from them for their perfidy. As do we all. But when I urge upon her approval of one action or another, she simply flies into one of her tempers."

"We must take her wishes as our command and act accordingly," Russell said with the utmost diplomacy. He did not add that the irascible Prime Minister was no stranger himself to bullheadedness and irrational fits of temper. "The yeomanry are being assembled for active duty, as is required in any national emergency. Orders have gone out to India and the antipodes for regiments to be transferred here as soon as is possible. For almost two years now the shipyards on the Clyde and the Tyne have been building the finest ironclad vessels ever conceived by the genius of our engineers. There is little else that can be done to prepare for any emergency. While on the diplomatic front our ambassadors press on indefatigably to wrest every advantage from the Americans—"

"All this I know," Palmerston said testily, dismissing any argument with a wave of his hand. "Preparations, yes, we have enough of that. But preparation for what? Is there any overall strategy to unite all this and the nation into a cohesive whole? If there is, I see it not. Certainly the Queen cannot provide us with any aid or succor in this matter."

"But the Duke of Cambridge, commander of the armies, can certainly be relied upon to—"

"To do what? Vacillate? Get drunk? Spend his time with one of his ladies? No salvation there. He has some good men on his staff, but he overrides them more often than not."

"Then, unhappily, the burden is still yours."

"It is indeed." Palmerston nodded weary agreement. "But the years begin to show. I should have put myself out to pasture long before this. But there is always one more crisis, one more decision to make—with no end in sight."

He had slumped deeper in his chair as he spoke. His face, despite the fullness of his jowls, was slack and pendulous, his skin an unsightly gray. Russell had never seen him look this ill in all their years of association, was about to remark upon it but held his comment for now. He temporized instead.

"You have worked too hard of late, taken too much upon yourself. Perhaps a spell in the country, a good rest—"

"Cannot be considered," Lord Palmerston said fiercely. "The country is going to hell in a handbasket, and I shall not be one to hurry it on its way. There is too much to be done, too much..."

Yet even as he spoke these words, his voice died away, ending in a wordless mumble. Russell looked on horrified as his eyes rolled up in his head and he fell forward in a slump, his head dropping onto the desk with a resounding thud. Russell jumped to his feet, his chair crashing to the floor, but even as he hurried forward, Palmerston dropped heavily onto the carpet and slid from sight.

COMMAND DECISION

General Sherman had met President Lincoln at the White House. From there they strolled over to the War Office together. They talked a little about the hot weather that had seized the city in a relentless grip for almost two weeks now. Then Sherman inquired about Mrs. Lincoln's health, which was improving. Lincoln reported that everyone was pleased that General Grant's wounded arm had healed so well. They talked about everything except the matter that was of the greatest concern to them. But Gus Fox had been adamant about this; no discussions about the details of the trip aboard
Aurora
unless it was in Room 313. Which was where they were headed now.

The two guards snapped to attention when they came down the corridor.

Sherman returned the salute, then rapped on the door. Fox unlocked it from the inside and stepped aside so they could enter. He locked the door behind them, then crossed over the small anteroom and unlocked the other, inner room. Once inside, they discovered that the windows were all closed and sealed and it was stifling hot.

"Just a moment," Fox said, quickly throwing wide the curtains and opening both of the windows. Thick bars prevented any access from outside, but at least the air could circulate now. Lincoln took out his kerchief and patted his face and neck dry, then dropped into an armchair, letting his long legs dangle over one arm.

"Am I at last to discover the facts about your mysterious mission?"

"You are," Sherman said. "It was dangerous, perhaps foolhardy, but since it was very successful, I imagine that the risks were justified. I suggest that you tell the President about our Russian friend, Gus."

"I will do just that. It all began while we were all still in Brussels; that was when we met a Count Korzhenevski, someone very high up their navy—and in their military intelligence as well. I can vouch for his authenticity because I have had contacts with his organization in the past. He speaks perfect English and was educated in England, and actually attended GreenwichNavalCollege. However, since the Crimean War, he has grown to detest the British who invaded his country. Knowing about our difficulties with Britain, he saw our two countries as natural allies. That was when he made a very generous offer, when he told us that he would like to put his yacht at our disposal. To take us wherever we wished to go."

"Very nice of the Count." Lincoln smiled. "You should have asked him to take you to England."

"That is just where we went."

The President was rarely caught out—but he was this time. He looked from one to the other of them with bewilderment.

"Do you mean that? You—went
there?"

"Indeed we did," Fox said. "In the guise of Russian officers."

"I've heard some tall stories in my time, but this beats the pants off any of them. Pray tell me, in greatest detail, about where you went and just what you did."

Sherman sat back and listened in silence while Gus outlined the various aspects of their precarious journey. For the moment the President did not appear to be interested in what they had discovered, but rather in all the surprises and close escapes in their exploration of the English mainland.

Gus finished, "...we sailed all that night and reached Dublin in the morning. That is when we heard about the naval engagement between the two ironclads. Of course we had to return here, so that was the end of our little voyage of exploration."

Lincoln leaned back with a heavy sigh—then slapped his knee with enthusiasm. "If I had heard this story from anyone else, Gus, anyone other than you, why, I would say he got the liar of the year—no, of the century!—award. You were right not to have informed me of your plans before you left. I would have vetoed them instantly. But now that you have returned, about all I can say is—well done!"

"Thank you, Mr. President," Sherman said. "In hindsight our little voyage of exploration does appear a mite foolhardy. But we got away with it. We have studied the English ports, cities, and countryside. And we have taken the measure of their defensive ability. It was intelligence hard gained—unhappily at the price of a man's life. One of the Russian sailors was killed when the ironclad fired on us. But the trip was well worth doing, I assure you."

"And your conclusions?"

"Militarily we know a great deal more about the British defenses than ever we did before. What is to be done with that knowledge of course depends upon the state of international affairs. The newspapers are all in a frazzle and contain more rumor than news. Before I go on, I would like to hear about the official reactions of the British to the loss of their ship."

The lines of worry were deep cut between Lincoln's eyes again. He had forgotten his troubles while listening to the tale of their daring adventures. Now memory flooded back.