Stars & Stripes Forever (2 page)

"Why?"

"Because I know what to do with the papers. Give yours to Eustin immediately. Macfarland, get to my cabin and get the lot. We will meet in the mail room. Go!"

They went. Mason paused before he followed them, waiting as Slidell threw papers onto the bed in a flurry of activity. "You must think of something, stall them somehow—you are a politician so that pontification, obfuscation and filibustering should come naturally. And lock this door behind me. I am well acquainted with the Mail Officer, and am aware of the fact that he is a retired Royal Navy commander. A real old salt. We have talked long over whiskey and cigars and I have heard many a nautical tale. And he dislikes the Yankees as much as we do. I am sure that he will aid us."

He followed Eustin, heavily laden with the documents, out of the door and heard the key turn in the lock behind him. Eustin stumbled and a sheaf of papers fell to the companionway floor.

"Steady, man," Mason said. "No, leave them, I'll pick them up. Go ahead."

Macfarland was waiting at the Mail Room door, his face drawn and white.

"It's locked!"

"Bang on it, you idiot!" He thrust the papers he was carrying into the other man's arm and hammered on the door with his fist, stepped back when it opened.

"Why Mr. Mason—what is it?" The door was opened by an elderly man with white mutton-chop whiskers, his face tanned by a lifetime at sea.

"Yankees, sir. They have fired at this ship, stopped her, sir."

"But—why?"

"It is their expressed desire to makes us their prisoners, to seize us against our will, clap us in irons and carry us off to some foul cell. And perhaps even worse. But you can help us."

The officer's face tightened in grim anger. "Of course—but what can I do? If you hide—"

"That would be cowardly, and we would be found." Mason seized a handful of papers and held them out. "It is not our fate that can be altered. But here are our credentials, our documents, our secrets. It would be disaster if the Yankees seized them. Would you preserve them for us?"

"Of course. Bring them inside."

He led the way across the room to a massive safe, took a key from his pocket and unlocked it.

"Put them in here, with the government post and specie."

When this was done, the safe door swung shut and was locked. The Mail Officer returned the key to his pocket and patted it.

"Gentlemen, though I am retired now I have never turned from my duty as a naval officer. I am now a bulldog in your defense. Threats of death will not sway me. I will keep this key in my pocket and it will not come out until we are in safe harbor in England. They must pass over my body before they enter this room. Your papers are as safe as the letters of the Royal Mail."

"I thank you, sir. You are an officer and a gentleman."

"I am but doing my duty..." He looked up at the sound of muffled shouting from the deck above, and the march of heavy boots. "I must lock the door."

"Hurry," Mason said. "And we must get to the cabin before the bluebellies do."

"I must protest this action, protest it strongly," Captain James Moir said. "You have fired on a British ship, halted her at sea at gunpoint, piracy—"

"This is not piracy, Captain," Fairfax broke in. "My country is at war and I am diligent in her service, sir. You have informed me that the two traitors, Mason and Slidell, are aboard this vessel. You will see that I am unarmed. I ask only to satisfy myself of their presence."

"And then?"

The American did not respond, knowing full well that anything he said would only add to the English captain's seething anger. This situation was too delicate, too laden with the possibility of international complications, for him to make any mistakes. The captain would have to decide for himself.

"Midshipman!" Moir snapped, turning his back rudely on the lieutenant. "Take this person below. Show him to the cabin of his countrymen."

Fairfax contained his own anger at this ungentlemanly behavior and followed the lad belowdecks. The steam packet was spacious and comfortable. Dark wood paneling lined the companionway and there were brass fittings on the cabin doors. The midshipman pointed to the nearest one.

"This will be it, sir. American gentleman name of Slidell, him and his family."

"Family?"

"Wife, sir, and son. Three daughters."

Fairfax hesitated only for an instant. The presence of Slidell's family made no difference; there could be no going back. He knocked loudly.

"John Slidell—are you there?"

He could hear whispered voices through the door, people moving about. He tried the handle. It was locked.

"I call to you again, sir. I am Lieutenant Fairfax of the United States Navy. I call upon you to open this door at once."

Silence was his only answer. He hammered again on the door so that it shook in its frame. It did not open and there was still no response.

"The responsibility lies with you, Slidell. I am a military officer doing his duty. I have orders to follow and follow them I will."

When there was still no response Fairfax turned and stamped angrily away, the midshipman scurrying ahead as he went back on deck. A group of passengers had come on deck as well and stared at him as he crossed to the rail and leaned over to shout his orders down to the boat.

"Sergeant—I want your men up here at once. All of them."

"I protest!" Captain Moir called out.

"Noted," Fairfax said turning his back on the man, treating the captain just as he had been treated.

Heavy boots slammed on the decking as the blue-clad marines scrambled aboard.

"Right shoulder... shift!" the sergeant bellowed and the muskets slammed into position.

"Sergeant, have your men fix their bayonets," was Fairfax's next command. He needed as strong a show of force as possible, hoping to avoid any untoward incidents this way. The sergeant shouted the commands and sharp steel glittered in the sunlight. The watching sailors shuffled back at the sight of it: even the captain was silent now. Only the Southern passengers who had now come on deck displayed their feelings.

"Pirates!" one of the men shouted as he shook his fist. "Murderous Yankee bastards." Others joined the shouting and started forward.

"Stop there!" Lieutenant Fairfax ordered. "Sergeant—have your men prepare to fire if these people get any closer."

This threat damped down the Southern enthusiasm. There were muttered complaints as they moved slowly back from the leveled bayonets. Fairfax nodded.

"See you stay that way. I'll take the corporal and two men below, Sergeant."

Marine boots thundered on the steps, stamped down the passageway. Fairfax led them forward, pointed to the cabin door.

"Use your musket butt, Corporal. Don't break it down yet—but I damn well want them to know that we are here."

Once, twice, thrice, the butt slammed thunderously on the thin wood before Fairfax waved him aside, called out loudly.

"I have armed marines here and they will do their duty if this door is not unlocked at once. I understand there are women in there so I do not wish to use violence. But I will use force to enter this cabin—if the door is not unsealed instantly. The choice is yours."

The heavy breathing of the waiting men was the only sound to break the silence. Fairfax felt his patience was at an end and had just opened his mouth to give the order when there was a rattling at the door. It opened a scant inch—then stopped.

"Ready your weapons," Fairfax ordered. "Use them only if we meet resistance. Follow me." He threw the door wide and went in. Halted abruptly at the sound of the shrill screaming.

"Stop right there!" the angry woman called out, holding the three girls to her ample bosom. A boy was at her side, shivering with fear.

"I mean you no harm," Fairfax said. The screaming died away to mournful sobbing. "Are you Mrs. Slidell?" Her answer was only a quick, angry nod. He looked about the luxurious cabin, saw the other door and pointed toward it. "It is your husband I wish to address. Is he there?"

John Slidell had his ear pressed hard against the panel in the door. He turned as there was a soft knock on the door across the cabin from him that led to the companionway. He hurried to it, whispered hoarsely.

"Yes?"

"It's us, John—unlock this thing at once."

Mason pushed his way in, Eustin and Macfarland hurrying after him. "What is happening?" Mason asked.

"They are inside with my family. A naval officer, armed marines, we delayed them as long as we could. The papers...?"

"Are in safe hands. Your delaying action was vital for our one small victory in this battle at sea. The Mail Officer, a retired Royal Navy commander as I told you, has taken the papers under his personal control. Locked them away and says he will not take out the key to his safe until he sees England's shores. He even said that threat of death itself would not sway him. Our papers are as safe as the letters in the Royal Mail."

"Good. Let us go in there now. My family has suffered enough indignity as it is."

The sobbing died away when the connecting door opened. A marine pointed his bayonet and stepped forward; Lieutenant Fairfax waved him back.

"There is no need for violence—as long as the traitors obey orders."

Fairfax watched coldly as the four men entered the room. The first man through called out to the huddle of women.

"L'est-ce que tout va bien? "

"Oui, ça va."

"Are you John Slidell?" Lieutenant Fairfax said. His only answer was a curt nod. "Mr. Slidell it is my understanding that you have been appointed as the special Rebel commissioner to France..."

"Your language is insulting, young man. I am indeed a member of the government of the Confederacy."

The lieutenant ignored his protestations, turned to the other politician. "And you will be James Murray Mason sent to the United Kingdom on the same mission. You will both accompany me, your assistants as well..."

"You have no right to do this!" Mason boomed out.

"Every right, sir. You as a former member of the American government know that very well. You have all rebelled against your flag and country. You are all traitors and are all under arrest. You will come with me."

It was not an easy thing to do. Slidell had an endless and emotional conversation in French with his Louisiana Creole wife, filled with tearful interruptions by his daughters. Their son fell back against the wall, pale and trembling, looking ready to faint. Mason made a thundering protest that no one listened to. The matter continued this way until almost an hour had passed and there was still no end in sight. Fairfax's anger grew until he shouted aloud for silence.

"This most grave matter is descending into a carnival and I will not allow it. You will all follow my orders. Corporal—have your marines accompany these two men, Eustin and Macfarland, to their cabins. There they will each pack one bag of their clothing and possessions and will be taken on deck at once. Have them ferried across to the
San Jacinto.
When the boat returns the other prisoners will be waiting on deck."

The logjam was broken—but it was mid-afternoon before the transfers were completed. Mason and Slidell were escorted up to the deck, but would not leave the ship until all their personal effects were packed and brought to them. In addition to their clothes they insisted upon taking the thousands of cigars that they had purchased in Cuba. While these were being transferred Captain Moir insisted that they would need dozens of bottles of sherry, pitchers and basins and other conveniences of the toilet that would not be found aboard a man-of-war. There was even more delay as these items were found and brought on deck.

It was after four in the afternoon before the prisoners and their belongings had been transferred to the
San Jacinto.
The warship raised steam and turned west toward the American shore.

When Captain Moir on the
Trent
had seen his remaining passengers safely in their cabins he mounted to the bridge and ordered his ship under way again. The American warcraft was only a dot on the horizon now and he had to resist the urge to shake his fist in her direction.

"This has been a bad day's work," he said to his first officer. "England will not be humiliated by this rebellious colony. Something has begun here that will not be easily stopped."

He did not realize how very prophetic his words would prove to be.

THE EXECUTIVEMANSION, WASHINGTON

NOVEMBER 15,1861

Wind-driven rain splattered against the office window; a cold draft of air whistled in around its ancient frame. John Hay, Abraham Lincoln's secretary, added more coal to the fire and stirred it until the flames blazed high. The President looked up from his paper-strewn desk and nodded approvingly.

"A cold day, John—but not half as chill, I believe, as last evening at General McClellan's home."

"That man, sir, something must be done—" Hay was spluttering with rage.

"There is very little to be done that I can think of. Even generals cannot be shot for impoliteness."

"This was more than impoliteness—it was a downright insult to his Commander-in-Chief. While we sat in that room waiting for his return he
did
come back and went directly upstairs. Refusing to see you, the President!"

"I am indeed the President, yes, but not an absolute monarch, not quite yet. And not even an absolute President, since you will remember, as the Democratic politicians are so fond of reminding me, that I was elected with a minority of the popular vote. At times it appears that I have more opposition in Congress than I do in Richmond. Dealing with the quarrelsome Senate and House is very close to a full-time job."

Lincoln ran his fingers through his thick mane of hair, looked out gloomily at the driving rain. "You must remember that first things come first—and the firstest thing of all is this terrible conflict that we are so deeply engaged in. In order to win this unhappy war I must rely on the generals and soldiers. It is a time for a great deal of patience and an even greater amount of sagacity—particularly with this young McClellan, General-in-Chief who is also Commander of the Army of the Potomac, which stands between this city and the enemy forces."