Stars & Stripes Forever (29 page)

Grant raised his glasses to see the officer commanding the battery rear up. Clutch his chest and collapse.

"Sharp Shooters—fire at will," the colonel ordered.

It was a slow, steady roll of fire as the sharpshooters who lay prone behind the battlement fired, opened their rifle breeches to load bullets and linen cartridges, sealed and fired again.

In the British line the gunners were unfastening the trails of their guns from the limbers, wheeling them about into firing position. While they did this they died, one by one. Within three minutes all of them were down. Next were the horse holders, killed as they tried to flee. And finally, one by one, the patient horses were killed. It was butchery, the best butchery that Grant had ever seen. Then a British gun fired and the shell screamed by close overhead. Grant pointed.

"Easy enough when they're out in the open. But what about that? An entrenched and sandbagged gun. All you can see is the muzzle."

Trepp rose and dusted off his uniform. "That is all we need to see. That gun," he ordered his men, "take it out."

Grant looked through his glasses as the reloaded gun in the center of the British lines was run back into firing position. Bullets from the sharpshooters began to hit in the sand all about the black disk of the muzzle and spurts of sand almost obscured it; then it fired again. When it was reloaded and run back into position yet again the bullets tore into the sand around the muzzle.

This time when the cannon fired it exploded. Grant could see the smoking wreck and the dead gunners.

"I developed this technique myself," Trepp said proudly. "We fire most accurately a very heavy bullet. There is soon enough sand in the barrel to jam the shell so that it explodes before leaving the muzzle. Soon when the attack begins we will show you how we handle that as well."

"Truthfully, Colonel Trepp, I am greatly anticipating seeing what you get up to next."

The destruction of the artillery seemed to have impressed the enemy commander, because the expected attack did not come at once. Then there was sudden movement on the far left flank as another battery of guns was pulled into position. But Trepp had stationed his sharpshooters in small firing units the length of the line. Within minutes the second battery had met the same fate as the first.

The sun was high in the sky before the expected move came. To the rear of the enemy lines a small party of mounted officers trotted out from the distant line of trees. They were a good five, perhaps even six hundred yards away. There was a ripple of fire from the American positions and Grant called out angrily.

"Cease firing and save your ammunition. They are well out of range."

Trepp was speaking to his marksmen in German and there was easy laughter. The colonel aimed carefully then said softly,
"Fertig machen?"
There was an answering murmur as he cocked the first long trigger.
"Feuer,"
he said and the guns fired as one.

It was as though a strong wind had swept across the group of horsemen, sweeping them all from their saddles in a single instant. They sprawled on the ground while their startled mounts quieted, lowered their heads and began to graze.

A single gold-braided, scarlet-coated figure started to rise. Trepp's rifle cracked and he dropped back among the others.

"I always take the commanding officer," Trepp said, "because I am the best shot. The others take from left to right as they wish and we fire together. Good,
Ja?"

"Good,
Ja,
my friend. Are your marksmen all Swiss?"

"One, two maybe. Prussian, Austrian, all from the old countries. Hunters there, damn good. We got plenty Americans too, more hunters. But these boys the best, my friends. Now watch when the attack comes. We shoot officers and sergeants first, then the men carrying the little flags, then the ones who stop to pick up flags. They always do that, always get killed. Then we shoot the men who stop to shoot at us. All this before their muskets are within range. Lots of fun, you will see."

Despite losing many of their officers the British pushed the charge home, roaring aloud as they rushed the last yards. Most of the troops on both sides had fired their final rounds and the battle was joined with bare bayonets. Grant looked at his new colored troops and found them holding the line, fighting fiercely, then even pursuing the attacking redcoats when the charge lost its momentum. Fight and die their sergeant had said—and they were doing just that.

Perhaps this battle was not lost quite yet, Grant thought.

The little steamer,
River Queen,
that had been so empty on the outward bound trip from Washington, was as filled as a Sunday excursion boat on her return voyage. Jefferson Davis, Robert E. Lee and all their aides filled the salon. The air was thick with the smoke of cigars and excited talk: there was good attendance in an alcove where a keg of whiskey had made an appearance. Abraham Lincoln retreated to a cabin with his secretaries, and General Sherman, to write the first of the many orders that must be issued. General Lee was called to consult with them and the atmosphere here became so close after a bit that Lincoln retreated to the deck where the air was fresher. The ship slowed as they approached the harbor at Yorktown where General Pope and his staff were waiting. Soon their blue uniforms were mixing with the gray of Lee's officers. All of these men had served together at one time and knew each other well. Now they put the war behind them. Men who had been separated by the conflict were comrades once again. Seeing the President standing alone, General John Pope left the others and went to join him.

"The best of news, Mr. President. The telegraph line is finally opened to Grant's command. They have held!"

"Welcome news, indeed John."

"But they held at a terrible price. He reports at least 16,000 dead, more wounded. The reinforcements are getting through to him, the regiment of sharpshooters was first, then the New York Third. More are on the way. As soon as the cease-fire with the Confederates went into effect almost all the troops from the Washington defenses were pulled out and sent north. The first of them should be reaching Grant later today. I have another division on the way. We are getting plenty of men to the railheads, that is not the problem. Trains are. Just not enough available to move all the men that are needed."

"You keep at it. Any problems with the railroads, let me know. We will see what kind of pressure we can apply. Grant must have all the reinforcements available—and he must hold until our joint forces can relieve him."

"General Grant sent you a personal report on the fighting. With an added note to the army. He wants more troops like the New York Third."

"He does? Now tell me—what is so special about them?"

"They are Negroes, Mr. President. We have other black regiments in training—but this is the first to have seen battle."

"And their behavior under fire?"

"Exemplary according to Grant."

"This war of invasion seems to be changing the world in many and unusual ways."

The water became more choppy as the steamer left the York River and headed northeast into Chesapeake Bay, toward the mouth of the Potomac River. These were busy waters and at least two other ships could be seen close by. Low on the eastern horizon were even more ships, white sails and smears of black smoke against the blue sky. Lincoln pointed them out.

"More of the blockading fleet being withdrawn, I imagine."

"They would not have received their orders yet," General Pope said. "Only those in port that could be reached by telegraph." He signaled to an aide to bring his telescope, raised it to his eye.

"Damnation!" he said. "Those aren't American ships. Union Jacks—I can see them! That is a British fleet!"

"Which way are they going?" Lincoln called out, feeling a dreadful anticipation. "Send for the captain."

The ship's first officer came down from the bridge and saluted. "Captain's compliments, Mr. President, but he would like to know what he should do. Those are British warships."

"We know—but we don't know which way they are going."

"Same heading as ours, the mouth of the Potomac River. Towards WashingtonCity. All but one of them.

"One of the battleships has altered course and is coming our way."

PRESIDENTS IN PERIL

There was a feeling of tension released, and even pleasure and happiness, in Whitehall as they went through the reports that the packet had brought from Canada to Southampton.

"I say," Lord Palmerston called out, waving a paper in the air. "General Champion reports that the Yankees appear to be putting up only the poorest of defenses. Plattsburgh taken and the troops marching on, advancing steadily. Jolly good!" And his gout had eased as well; the world had become a sunnier and more beneficent place.

"And this from the admiralty," Lord Russell said. "The fleet in the GulfCoast attack should have completed their task by now. They are expecting the first reports of victory very soon. From the WashingtonCity attack as well. The navy showed great foresight and tactical acumen there. I must say that the Admiralty has more imagination and tactical ability than I ever gave them credit for. Perfectly timed. Waited until the reports came in that troops were being pulled out of the defenses of the capital. Then, while the American soldiers rush to defend their borders—attack the heart of their homeland. They will soon be brought to heel."

Palmerston nodded in happy agreement. "I do agree. And I know that I can confide in you, John, that at times I have been a bit worried. It is one thing to talk about war—another thing completely to take the first step and open battle. I like to think that I am a peaceable man. But I am also an Englishman and will not suffer in silence when insulted. And this fair land has been insulted, gravely, gravely. And then there is the fact that Wellington was so positive that we should not go ahead with the war. That worried me. But, still we pressed on. But now, by hindsight, I can see that this war has all been right and proper, almost preordained."

"In truth, I am forced to agree. I look forward to the next reports with utmost expectation."

"As I do, old friend, as I do. Now—I must to Windsor to bring these good tidings to the Queen. I know that she will share our pleasure at the good news. Preordained, preordained."

Captain Richard Dalton, 1st U.S. Cavalry, had not seen his family in over a year. If he had not been wounded at the battle of Ball's Bluff he might have gone another year without getting home. The piece of shrapnel that had lodged in his right shoulder hurt bad enough, hurt even more when the surgeon cut it out. He could still ride pretty well, but it would be some time before he could raise a sword or fire a gun. His CO. had been willing to grant him sick leave so, despite the almost constant pain, he felt himself a lucky man. He was still alive when a lot of his men were not. The ride south from the capital was an easy one, his welcome when he opened his front door worth all the pain past, pain to come. Now the sun was warm, the fish were biting, he and his seven-year-old son had almost filled the creel in a few hours.

"Daddy—look at our ships! Ain't they great?"

Dalton, almost dozing in the warm sunlight, looked up at the mouth of the inlet where it met the Potomac.

"Sure big ones, Andy." Ships of the line, hurrying upstream under sail and steam. White sails filled, black smoke roiling from their funnels. It was a grand sight indeed.

Until a puff of wind caught the flag on the stern of the third vessel in line, spread it out before flapping it about the staff again.

Two crosses, one over the other.

"The Union Jack!
Row for shore Andy, just as fast as you can. Those aren't our ships, not by a long sight."

Dalton jumped onto the bank as soon as the bow grated on the sand, bent to tie it up one-handed.

"Go on Andy. I'll bring the fish—you just run up to the barn and saddle up Juniper."

The boy was off like a shot, along the lane that led to their house at Piney Point. Dalton secured the boat, then grabbed up the fish and followed him, found Marianne waiting at the back door, looking troubled.

"Andy shouted something about ships—then ran into the barn."

"I've got to ride to the depot in LexingtonPark, they have a telegraph there. Got to warn WashingtonCity. We saw them. British warships, an awful lot of them, heading upriver toward Washington. Got to warn them."

The boy led the big gray out. Dalton checked the tightness of the girth, smiled and tousled the lad's hair. Grabbed the pommel with his left hand and swung himself up into the saddle.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. Soon as I tell them that the war is on its way to the capital."

Mary Todd Lincoln laughed aloud with happiness as she poured the tea. Cousin Lizzie, who was new to Washington, was not impressed by the local ladies and was so funny when she strutted across the room, flouncing an invisible bustle.

"Why I tell you—I am not making this up. They just don't have
style.
You don't see ladies in Springfield or Lexington walking like that—or talking like that."

"I don't think that this is a real Southern city," Mary's sister, Mrs. Edwards said. "I don't think it knows what it is, what with all those Yankees and politicians infesting the place." She took the cup of tea from Mary. "And, of course, none of them are Todds."

The sisters and cousins and second-cousins all nodded at this. They were a close-knit family and it was Mary's pleasure to have them visiting her. Just for a change the talk of the war was taking second place to gossip.

"I am so afraid for Mr. Lincoln and this mysterious meeting that no one will tell us about," Cousin Amanda said. "An Abolitionist going into the deep South at this time!"

"You mustn't believe everything you read in the vampire press," Mary said firmly. "They are always after me as being pro-Southern and pro-slavery when y'all know the truth. Of course our family kept slaves, but we never bought them or sold them. You all know my feelings. The first time I saw a slave auction, saw them being whipped—why I became as much of an abolitionist as a Maine preacher. I've always felt that way. But Mr. Lincoln, the thought of his being an abolitionist is so absurd. I don't think he knew anything about slavery until he visited me at home. And he has the strangest idea about slaves. Thinks that if you bundle them all off to South America that would solve the problem. He is a good man but not knowledgeable about the Negro. But he does want to do the right thing. What he believes in—is the Union, of course. And justice."