Stars & Stripes Forever (42 page)

"It's the Russian Ambassador."

"The baron with the unpronounceable name?"

"Yes, sir. Baron Stoeckl. He wants to offer his congratulations."

"After what the British did to the Russians in Crimea I imagine he does."

The baron was elegantly garbed and bore a soup plate-sized golden decoration around his neck. He seized Lincoln's hand and worked it like a pump handle, so strenuously did he do this that his wig threatened to be displaced.

"May I extend my congratulations, Mr. President, my heartiest congratulations on your victory in the field of battle." He stepped aside and indicated the elegantly garbed military man behind him. "May I introduce you to Admiral Paul S. Makhimov who is here with flagship, a coincidental but wonderfully timed visit."

The admiral had a calloused hand and a firm grip, but a limited command of English. "You sink the sheeps, I sink
Angleski
sheep.
Da!"

"The admiral is referring to his victories at sea during the last war."

Lincoln extracted his hand with some difficulty and nodded agreement. "We have indeed sunk a great number of ships."

A touch on his arm drew him away. "Mrs. Lincoln would like you to join her in welcoming the guests," Nicolay said.

As more and more well-wishers crowded into the White House an impromptu reception line was being formed. Lincoln greeted them all with a quick word or two and a handshake. Mary, who did not relish the thought of touching so many people, held a bouquet before her in her folded hands. Nodded and smiled.

Politicians and their ladies for the most part, although there were some generals, and the one Russian admiral; most of the military officers were still in the field or at sea. There were of course the foreign dignitaries and ambassadors, as well as local residents of note.

"It is a proud day," Miss Bettie Duvall said.

"It certainly is," Mary Todd Lincoln said, her voice now more Southern-Todd than Yankee-Lincoln. "Have you been keeping well?"

The softness of her words belied the sharpness of their content. After first being put under house arrest in Washington for the outspokenness of her Confederate views, Miss Duvall had finally been sent south along with the widow Greenhow, who now stood beside her. This was after it was discovered that not only were they outspoken sympathizers—but that they had been active as well as spies for the South. Imprisoning women of their class and advanced years had been out of the question. Sending them back to the impoverished wartime South had been punishment enough.

"Most well. Our boys have done it—haven't they?"

"Most certainly they have. Soldiers of the North and South fighting side by side to hurl back a foreign invader. It is a wonderful day."

They all smiled and, at least for the moment, the past was put behind them. This was a night of victory and not of malice.

The room was soon crowded and hot and Mary's head was beginning to hurt. She whispered to her husband and slipped away. He shook the proffered hands diligently, but scarcely looked at the visitors.

"A day of victory for American arms," the officer said. Lincoln glanced down at the short, uniformed man standing before him, shook hands once, then let go.

"I sincerely hope that you have recovered from your fever, General McClellan."

"In every way," Little Napoleon said firmly. "And prepared once again to serve my country in the field of battle." No hint in his voice of his procrastination in avoiding battle, or his losses when battle was finally and hesitantly joined.

"Indeed I am sure you are. But I relinquished the title of Commander-in-Chief that I assumed with your illness. That title is now held by one far more efficient than I in military prowess." With perhaps a suggestion in his voice that General Sherman was far more efficient than McClellan as well. "You must address yourself to our most victorious commander when he returns from the battlefront."

Everyone wanted to talk to the President this night, even former Navy Lieutenant Gustavus Fox who, intelligence services put aside for the moment, was in naval uniform to honor the occasion. He signed to Lincoln as he took the arm of a short man in dark garb, who carried an ebony cane as well as an air of calculated indifference.

"Mr. President. May I present you to the new French ambassador, the Due de Valenciennes."

The duke bent very slightly from the waist in condescending acknowledgment. Lincoln shook his soft hand like a pump handle before the Frenchman could extricate it.

Fox smiled and said, "The Duke was explaining to me just why his country has landed another thirty thousand troops at the Mexican port of Vera Cruz just a short while ago."

Valenciennes dismissed this minutia with a flick of his hand. "A matter of business only. The Mexican government has not been honoring its commitments nor repaying certain loans to the French."

"You go about your bill collecting in a most impressive way," Lincoln said.

"It was on the fourteenth of December last year that French troops landed in Vera Cruz, was it not?" Fox asked.

This was also dismissed with a trifling wave. "Business, just business. We were aided by the Spanish who were calling in the same loan. As well as, I believe, some seven hundred British troops. Also there to collect a loan."

Lincoln nodded. "I do remember a bit about that. But the British were causing a lot of trouble about one of their ships, the
Trent,
at the time so I let my attention waver. But you have all of my attention now. I do believe that Mexico has a new constitution that is based on the American one—is that right, Mr. Fox?"

"Indeed it is. Done in 1857."

"Which I guess makes her a sister republic. Thirty thousand troops is an awful lot of bill collectors calling on our sister. I think that the Monroe Doctrine covers matters of this kind. Mr. Fox, could I have a complete report about this?"

"Of course."

"My congratulations upon your military victories," Valenciennes said, suddenly eager to change the subject. "Might I meet with your Mrs. Lincoln to add to those congratulations?"

"I think she has retired, but I will be sure and tell her what you said."

Fox led him away and Lincoln smiled. While his attention was distracted by the war with the British, there had been trouble coming in through the back door of the United States. Well, he was looking the right way now.

It was well past midnight by this time and the excitement showed no sign of abating. Lincoln worked his way through the crowds of well-wishers and climbed the stairs, heard the clacking of the telegraph from the office beside his own. Nicolay was there sorting through a thick wad of papers.

"Mostly congratulations, sir," he said. "As well as suggestions of what we should do to the defeated enemy, some of them very instructive. And the usual entreaties for appointments."

Lincoln settled into his armchair with a sigh. "What of the prisoners? How many thousands do we have?"

"Not tallied yet—but there are sure to be even more after the fall of Quebec. The Irish prisoners have welcomed our farming program and will stay in this country. They feel that they would be far better off working the land here rather than back in their impoverished country. Though some are too young for heavy work I am sure that they will all fit in. There are Irish boy soldiers of only eight and ten. Volunteered for the British Army they say. That or starve. There is still no decision on the English prisoners."

"What do you mean?"

"The offer of farm work and the possibility of homesteading was meant only for the Irish. But there are now English volunteers who prefer staying on in this country to returning home."

"Let's have them, I say. One's good as another. But I am to bed, Nico. It has been quite a day."

"It certainly has."

But not quite over yet. Gideon Welles was waiting in the president's office, stroking his great fluffy beard as he looked out of the window. He turned when Lincoln came in. "A day that will live forever in history." Being a former journalist, he sometimes spoke in newspaper headlines.

"It certainly will. It has been a long time since the British have been so thoroughly beaten."

"It is the first time, I do believe. England was last invaded in 1066. Since then she has not been invaded and has fought a good number of wars. She gobbled up Wales, Cornwall, Scotland and Ireland and became Great Britain. Not satisfied with that she has plundered her way right around the world and in doing so has founded the British Empire. I fear for our navy, Mr. President."

"As Secretary you should. But is there anything in particular that troubles you?"

"Peacetime bothers me. We have just laid the keels of eight more iron ships. Will there be the money available to build them?"

"There must be. We will tread softly in this world—but we will not go unarmed. A strong navy and a strong army will assure our safety."

"People will complain about taxes and Congress will listen to them."

"Congress will listen to me as well. No one in the Cabinet is in any doubt about our economic needs for the future, that Mr. Mill has pointed out."

"There are distant rumbles of discontent."

"As long as they stay that way, why fine. But none shall stay the course of the mighty battleship America as she sails into her successful future. Those that man her must speak with one voice, seek one goal."

"They must sail with a fair breeze—or jump overboard."

"Precisely. There have been Cabinet changes in the past—" Lincoln turned to address his Secretary of War, who was just now entering the office, "you will not forget your predecessor Simon Cameron."

Stanton laughed. "Nor will I forget his fate—ambassador to Russia."

"A well deserved fate as you know, since you had to clean up the mess he made of the navy. But let us leave these matters for the morn—and enjoy this night of victory. When the Cabinet meets tomorrow it will be time enough to discuss our peacetime future."

DAY OF VICTORY

The warship
Avenger
arrived just two days before General Sherman. She made landfall on the Nova Scotia coast at Cape Sable, then steamed north. Her arrival at the seaport of Halifax caused instant alarm. The two British frigates in the port raised steam and headed out to sea as soon as the American warship was identified. If there had been some wind they might have escaped, using a combination of screw and sail. But it was a still, cold December day and their sails hung in limp festoons. The newly-built
Avenger
had engines that were far superior to theirs. Once again iron mastered wood and the
Chatelain
was battered and wrecked after a single barrage from the warship's two turrets. The master of the British frigate did not strike his colors even though nothing could be gained by fighting on.
Avenger
did not bother to ask the frigate to strike and disdained further battle to go in pursuit of her sister ship. The captain of the
Courageous
was more prudent, or practical, or simply realized that nothing could be gained in unequal battle. He struck as soon as the first shots had been fired. A boarding party was sent to her and took command, bringing the frigate back into the port she had so recently fled.
Avenger
looked on, guns ready, as the captured ship hove to, then threw a line to the battered
Chatelain
and took her under tow. Following orders the
Courageous
stopped her engines as soon as they had entered the outer harbor, then dropped anchor there.
Avenger
passed them and moved slowly toward the shore. As soon as she was within range the batteries of the harbor defenses opened fire.

Cannonballs threw up columns of water in the sea around the American ironclad—and bounced off of her eight-inch-thick armor. Seemingly indifferent to the attack the
Avenger
did not return the fire of the batteries as she patrolled the waterfront. Nor did she fire on the merchantmen and transports tied up there. Instead she moved to the center of the harbor where she dropped anchor and came to rest.

The nearest gun battery at the harbor mouth fired again. This time there was a response. The 400-pound shells from a single turret blew the battery into a jagged ruin in an instant. No other batteries fired.

"What the blazes is that thing doing?" the Duke of Cambridge asked. No one volunteered an answer. He stood on the balcony of his headquarters in Government House, wrapped in furs to ward off the bitter chill. He had only arrived a few days previously to take charge of the American operation. Urged to do so by his cousin, the Queen. The presence of the Commander-in-Chief of the British Army may have helped morale and rallied the troops some; it had had no apparent effect upon the operation of the war.

All the news was bad.

"First that disastrous adventure in the American South. Naval defeat in the Potomac. General Champion killed in battle. Our West Indies bases taken—Quebec fallen. And now this. You, Clive, you're supposed to be the brainy one. Can you explain it?"

Brigadier Clive Somerville hesitated. The answer seemed obvious enough.

"Go on, then," the Duke urged.

"Well, Sir—I imagine that warship is the cork in the bottle. The Yankee ironclads were reported in the St. Lawrence heading for the sea the last we heard."

"The ice will stop them."

"Not hard enough or thick enough yet to stop a steam powered iron ship. And I am sure that the enemy troops are marching close behind them."

"Cork in the bottle, you say?"

"Yes, Sir. That armored ship of the line could bombard the city, drive us out if they wanted to. I think that they like us just as we are."

The Duke of Cambridge looked at the dark form of the warship again and shivered. "Damn cold out here. Let's to the fire. Someone find me a large brandy." He led the way inside.

Soon after dawn the next morning the small flotilla of ironclads appeared out of the mist. They anchored next to the
Avenger,
which launched a boat as soon as they had dropped anchor. A portly form in a heavy cloak climbed slowly down and was transported to the leading ironclad. Very soon after that a boat started toward shore. A soldier in the bow held a white flag aloft.