Stars & Stripes Triumphant (29 page)

"India?" Sherman frowned as he pulled the papers toward him. "What kind of a convoy?"

"Troops. Fourteen troop-carrying vessels, most of them liners like the SS
Dongola
and SS
Karmala.
Among the units the Rajput Fifty-first Pioneers are listed. Along with the Second Battalion of North Lancashire Rifles, the Twenty-fifth Battalion of Royal Fusiliers—and more like that. They are accompanied by a number of warships, including the HMS
Homayun,
as well as the armorclad HMS
Goliath."

"I don't like this at all. A force this size can raise a lot of dander. When are they due here?"

"If they keep to their schedule—in about one week's time."

"Do you think they have been informed about the war—and the occupation?"

"I am sure of that. As you know, most of the British navy that was at sea did not return to port. More than one ship fled Portsmouth to escape capture. Some of them surely knew about this convoy and would go to join it. Also, the convoy will have stopped at coaling stations en route, which would have been informed by telegraph of world events. We can be sure that they know exactly what has happened here."

"You're in the navy, Gus. Any idea of what we should do?"

Fox raised his hands in surrender. "No, sir! This is well out of my league. But I did send Admiral Farragut a copy of these shipping movements and asked him to join us here."

"A wise move. He is a sound tactician."

While the waiter was refilling their glasses, Sherman read through the papers that Fox had given him. Then he had the waiter bring him a pencil and made some notes on the back of one of those sheets. When he spoke again his voice was grim.

"That is a sizable infantry force that is coming our way. I doubt if they will have the strength to retake this country from us, but there will still be some terrible battles if they manage to get ashore. If they do, there will surely be risings as well from demobilized British soldiers. This is not what we want."

Admiral Farragut was of a like mind when he joined them. "Bad news indeed. I've sent orders to all our ships to refuel and stand ready."

"What do you plan to do?" Sherman asked.

"Nothing—until we have worked out where the convoy is headed. They will not go to the assigned ports that are in these orders, you can be sure of that. They will know by now about the occupation and the commanding officer of the troops will plan accordingly. I think the decision must be yours, General, because this is a military matter. Their army commanders will be planning a landing—or landings. Their navy will act as an escort and provide fire to cover any landings."

"That was my thought as well." Sherman finished his ale and rose. "Let us take this discussion to my office and consult the maps there."

The map of the British Isles was unfolded on the desk below the oil lamp. General Sherman studied it thoughtfully.

"Any ideas, Gus?" he asked.

"None! I have no intelligence of their destination and am no tactician. I will not attempt to even guess."

"Very wise. Which leaves the responsibility to me. First—let us limit the possibilities." He tapped on the map. "I think that we can eliminate landings in the north and west. Scotland and Wales are too distant from the seat of power. Cornwall is the same as well. We must look to London."

"They will not attempt to come up the Thames as we did," Farragut said. "It is common knowledge that our floating batteries are still stationed there. But here to the east, in the Wash, there are protected waters where landings are possible. Or farther south, perhaps, at the port of Harwich."

Sherman shook his head. "Again—too far from the center. Harwich is a better possibility, it is surely close enough to London. But we would be warned if they landed there and could easily mass the troops to stop them. Therefore I believe that it is the south coast that we must worry about. They will know that we have seized Portsmouth, so they will not come ashore there. But here, farther east along the south coast, it is very different. Flat beaches, shallow waters, easy access from the sea. Brighton. Newhaven. Hastings." He ran his finger along the coast.

"Hastings, 1066," Fox said. "The last successful invasion before ours."

"I can station a screen of ships across the mouth of the English Channel," the admiral said. "From Bournemouth right across to the CherbourgPeninsula. The Channel can't be more than eighty miles wide there. A force the size of this one coming from India would be easily spotted as it approached. But, of course, if they do go west to Cornwall or beyond, we will never see them. Their troops would be well ashore before we knew anything about it."

The ticking of the clock could be clearly heard in the silence that followed. This was a command decision—and General William Tecumseh Sherman was in command. The burden of decision rested upon his shoulders alone. His commander in chief was on the other side of the Atlantic and could not be consulted in time. It was indeed his sole judgment. He glanced up at the clock.

"Admiral, can you meet me here at eight o'clock in the morning to discuss your orders?"

"I shall be here."

"Fine. Gus, I want your clerks to rake through the files. Get me the strengths of all the units listed in these orders. I will also want that by eight in the morning at the latest. Earlier, if you can manage it."

"I'll get onto it right now."

"Good. On your way out, tell the officer of the day to send for my staff. It is going to be a long night."

Dawn was just breaking when a haggard-eyed Fox brought the files with the strengths of the various military units that were in the approaching convoy. The staff officers moved aside when he came in and handed the papers to General Sherman.

"They are all here, General. All of the troops listed as being in the convoy. I wish I could be as sure of the accompanying naval vessels. Here are the original manifests, but any number of ships could have joined the convoy since they sailed. The route and dates of the convoy were well known throughout the fleet. Any or all of the British ships that escaped capture could be with the convoy now."

"Excellent. Now I suggest that you get some rest. You have done all that could be done."

Sherman himself looked as alert as he had the evening before. A seasoned campaigner, he was used to days and nights without sleep. By eight o'clock, before Admiral Farragut arrived, the plans were well in hand. Once the orders had been written, the staff officers dispersed to implement them as soon as possible. Sherman was alone, looking out the window at the park when the admiral came in.

"It is done," Sherman said. "Orders have been issued and the first troop movements will begin this morning."

"To... where?"

"Here," Sherman said, slapping his hand down on the map of the south coast of England. "They will try to land here—they have no other choice. But our troops will soon be digging in all along this coast. From Hastings to Brighton. The heart of our defenses will be at Newhaven Fort, right here. Some of the guns there were damaged, but they have all been replaced by now. That coast will soon be bristling with American might. Any attempts to land will be blasted from the water. But I hope that disaster will not happen. It must be averted."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"I will be able to tell you when I join you. When do you estimate that it is the earliest that the convoy will arrive?"

"They may be slower than anticipated, but in any case they cannot get to the Channel any faster than was originally planned. Three more days at the earliest."

"Good. You will post your ships at the Channel mouth, as you outlined last night. I shall join you in two days' time. Will you have a ship for me in Portsmouth?"

"The
Devastation
just came in from patrol and is refueling in Southampton. I'll telegraph orders for her to await you there, then she will join us in station. I sincerely hope that you are right in your summation of the situation, General."

Sherman smiled wryly. "Admiral, I
have
to be right or we are lost. If the British army from India gets ashore, it will be a ragtag, murderous invasion with no guarantee of a successful outcome for either side. I have issued my orders. What happens next is up to the enemy."

As soon as it had been deemed safe, John Mill's daughter, Helen, had joined him in London. Through an agent she had found a most attractive furnished house to rent in Mayfair, on

Brook Street

. She knew how important a warm home environment was for Mill and she bent every effort in that direction. The strain of the work that he was doing was very great indeed, and he walked now with his shoulders bent, as though he were carrying a heavy load. As indeed he was. He was in his sitting room, still in sleeping cap and dressing gown, enjoying his morning tea, when Helen brought in a copy of
The Times.

"I am almost afraid to read it these days," he said, touching the newspaper gingerly with the tips of his fingers.

Helen laughed as he squinted at the first page. "It is not really that bad. They are actually weighing arguments pro and con concerning the proposed constitution—instead of thundering away, all barrels blazing, the way they did in the beginning." She reached into the pocket of her dress and took out some envelopes. "Your Mr. Disraeli was here even before the morning post and left these off for you."

"Wonderful! I shall put the newspaper aside with pleasure. He promised me a list of possible members for the proposed congress—this will hopefully be them." He quickly read through the papers. "That is a familiar name. Charles Bradlaugh?"

"You must remember him, Papa. The founder of the
National Reformer
and a great pamphleteer."

"Of course—yes! A committed republican and a freethinker. I can hear the wounded cries now if we permit an atheist to join our congress. Indeed, we must have him. I will get an invitation off to him today. Ah—and here is Frederic Harrison as well. A gentleman well-known to the working classes as possessing a practical knowledge of how the trade unions operate. Disraeli strongly advises that he be present, and I can only agree."

With Disraeli's aid and political know-how, a list of members for a constitutional congress was slowly being assembled. There were veteran politicians and reformers like William Gladstone, as well as up-and-coming politicians like Joseph Chamberlain. Although the newspapers sneered at the very idea of this congress and the political cartoonists had a field day at its expense, a possible panel was slowly being formed. Now it was only a matter of fixing a date that would be suitable for all parties concerned. What had seemed like a novel invention at first soon began to take on the appearance of respectability.

WAITING FOR DESTINY

Three days had passed since the USS
Devastation
had joined the squadron that stretched across the mouth of the English Channel. This was the proper place to intercept any ships entering the Channel where it joined the Atlantic Ocean. The northernmost ship in the line cruised within easy sight of Portland Bill. South of it, using just enough power to breast the incoming tide, rode USS
Virginia.
Beyond this ship, almost on the horizon, another American ironclad was just visible. The line of warships now reached from within sight of the English coast right across the Channel as far as Cap de la Hague on the tip of the CherbourgPeninsula. Every ship in the squadron was in sight of at least two others. When the British came—
if
they came—there was no way that they could escape observation.

If
they came. This little word echoed over and over in General Sherman's brain as he paced the flying bridge of the
Devastation.
When they had joined the squadron they had taken up station next to Admiral Farragut's flagship, USS
Mississippi,
at the center of the line. She was still in position next to them, steaming as slowly as they were.

Sherman once again found himself standing at the rail, looking east across the empty sea. Would the convoy come? Had he been wrong in his assumption that they would attack the south coast of England? For the thousandth time he tracked the logic that had led him to the inevitable conclusion that this was what they would do. He still believed they must strike at this coast, but three days of waiting had left his theory hard-pressed. As he turned away he saw that a small boat was pulling away from the
Pennsylvania.
He realized suddenly that it must be noon—that was the hour appointed for his meeting with the admiral. They would discuss tactics yet again, and the state of the squadron, and Farragut would stay for luncheon. Sherman's eyes strayed once more to the empty horizon, before he left the bridge and went to wait for the admiral on the deck.

"Still fine weather," Farragut said as they shook hands. Sherman only nodded and led the way below. There was nothing they could say that had not been said often before. Sherman took the carafe from the sideboard and held it up.

"Will you join me in a sherry before we dine?"

"An excellent thought."

Sherman had just poured out the drinks when a seaman burst through the door.

"Captain's compliments." The words rushed from his mouth. "The lookout reports ships to the southeast."

The sailor had to move swiftly aside as the two officers rushed past him. By the time they had reached the bridge, the line of ships could be seen on the horizon. Captain Van Horn lowered his telescope. "The leading ship is an armorclad—you can tell by her upper works. And there is more smoke from ships still not in sight. Eight, ten of them at least."

"Is this it?" Sherman asked.

Van Horn nodded firmly. "Without doubt, General. There could be no other force that size at sea."

"Follow General Sherman's orders," Admiral Farragut said as he turned away. "I must return to my command and issue the signal to assemble all our force here."

"I want you to approach those ships as soon as the admiral's boat is clear. And do it slowly."