1862

Chapter Sixteen

General Cornelis Napier was fifty-two years old and had spent most of his military career in India. He had no experience against a European or white army, as he had totally missed Britain's experience in the Crimea. Like many of his peers, he had been very reluctant to take an assignment in North America, in particular one that would require him to serve alongside slave owners. He had reluctantly acquiesced to command only when pressed by Palmerston in person. Still, he was most uncomfortable with his new assignment.

Napier, however, was a thoroughly professional, tactful, intelligent, and genial man who was not at all put out by the fact that the only other British officer in Richmond with whom he could talk military matters was a lowly brevet major, John Knollys.

Despite the heat, the two men had eaten a full dinner and were drinking brandy in the quarters Napier had acquired just outside Richmond. The situation was informal and, with just the two of them present, the differences in rank were, for the most part, disposed of. It would be two men talking frankly.

“Enough small talk, Knollys,” Napier said. They'd spent a pleasant hour reminiscing about England, the army in India, and mutual acquaintances. “Your reports have been somewhat circumspect and less than candid, I fear. I understand. After all, if such a man as Lord Lyons can be rebuked by Palmerston for intimating that the Confederacy could lose the war, just what can a recently promoted brevet major hope to gain by being equally indiscreet?”

Knollys flushed. “You are correct, sir. I had absolutely no wish to lay my head on the chopping block. But there are problems here that I did not wish to put down in writing.”

“Then you must be glad to see me.”

“Indeed, sir,” Knollys said truthfully.

They were in their shirtsleeves, but it was still damnably hot. Nothing like India, but there they would have servants fanning them. In Virginia, they could have had slaves perform the same task, but their orders from England were to avoid the usage of slaves. It suited both men. Napier had made it clear to Knollys that he despised the thought of slavery.

They finished their brandy and lit cigars. Knollys would have preferred an iced tea without cigars, but one did what a general did when dining with a general. He was amused that Richmond had plenty of ice that had been brought down from Canada during the winter and was stored underground. This used to be the case in Washington, and he wondered if their ice supply still existed. If not, the poor dears in the Union's capital must feel terribly deprived and out of sorts.

“In your opinion, Major, what is the problem with the Confederacy? Why has their military support been less than total? I can understand their deferring to us in naval matters, but their army has been almost totally inactive. This was not what we thought would occur when we took them on as a partner.”

Knollys took a deep pull on his cigar and released the smoke to the ceiling. “The problem is fundamental, General. In terms of their white population, the South began the war outnumbered about four to one, and this disparity in military-age manpower has grown worse, and not only as a result of casualties, which have been as severe as the North's. The Union continues to encourage immigration from Europe, while, as before the war, virtually no immigrants come to the South; thus, the North's population is growing while the South's is stagnant at best. The manufacturing jobs are in the North, not the South, and even the rude farm jobs are taken by slaves in the Confederacy, and not by immigrant whites. The Union is arming Negroes, which will further add to their numerical advantage. Many in the Confederacy still think people of color can't or won't fight white men.”

“We know better than that,” Napier said.

Great Britain had used colonials of all colors in her armies for generations. Although none of the nonwhite colonials had yet fought and defeated a major European force, there was no reason to doubt their ability to do so. As a result, it was also a given that England did not particularly wish non-whites to fight white troops. A victory by colored soldiers over white troops could lead to pretensions on the part of natives that would be hard to disprove. Fortunately, the recently finished Sepoy Rebellion in India had ended with an overwhelming British victory, and those incidents in which the Sepoys had prevailed were always against vastly outnumbered British regulars.

“Of course,” Napier continued, “the Confederacy won't even consider arming her own Negroes, will they?”

“Pigs will sprout wings and fly before that happens, sir. In my opinion, General Cleburne was driven out of the South on that issue, and not on the allegations that he was dealing with Union sympathizers. I might add that Cleburne's defection has the Confederate army looking with suspicion at anyone with an Irish name, whether Catholic or not.”

“Damned Irish,” Napier said with a smile. Many of the British army's top generals were Irish, although Protestant.

Knollys shrugged. “The result, however, is that the Confederacy has a small, efficient, and sometimes well-led army that will function very well on the defensive, but does not have the manpower or the inclination to go on the offensive for a war of conquest. Raids, yes, but not a conquest of lands, which she would not be able to hold. We want her to go on the offensive, but that is something both Jefferson Davis and General Lee are reluctant to do. Davis is deeply sympathetic with our problem in Canada, perhaps even dismayed, but that is about it at this time. I might add that the dismay we feel over our loss is mirrored here in Richmond. No one thought we would fail so dismally in Canada.”

“Despite that, what we want and must have,” said Napier, “is a Confederate attack on the North. We are rapidly losing all that counts of Canada to the Union.”

Not only had Toronto fallen, but Union attacks on the Pacific coast had taken Vancouver Island, and a thrust up from Duluth had taken Fort William and Thunder Bay. As a result, Great Britain no longer had any real access to the vast interior of what remained of her North American possessions. She could enter through Hudson Bay, but that was ice-clogged for much of the year.

“General, the Confederates feel that such an invasion would play into the Union's hands. The Union seems to be divesting themselves of their more incompetent generals, while the South seems intent on retaining her incompetents, such as Bragg. These better Union generals seem to have a clearer comprehension of their advantages, instead of being frightened by perceived disadvantages.”

Knollys laughed harshly. “My dear General Napier, we have been talking about the Union's advantage in numbers and have largely ignored her advantage in manufacturing. It is even more staggering. No matter what we provide the South in the way of equipment and supplies, the North keeps on making even greater quantities.”

Napier poured himself some more brandy and handed the bottle to Knollys. “Major, you make it sound hopeless, and I cannot accept that. You are, however, saying that any advantages currently held by the Confederates will wither away over time. Thus, the need for action is now. Palmerston wants the war ended this year and I agree, although for a different reason. From what you've told me and from what I've heard from Lord Lyons and others, the Confederacy's only chance for victory is this year, so our two country's plans are convergent.”

“Yes, sir.”

Napier tapped his fingers on the table. “I understand you are well connected in Richmond social circles and have been seeing a local woman.”

Although far from handsome, Knollys's English charm and his lost-dog appearance had again brought him success in the boudoir. This time he was involved with one Rosemarie DeLisle, a widow whose late husband had been a Virginia plantation owner. She was fascinated by his accent and what she thought was his outstanding lineage and wealth, and Knollys, of course, did nothing to disabuse her. Rosemarie was untypical in that most Southern women were very proper and distant. Rosemarie maintained that facade, but, behind it, was a woman of intense passion who had seduced Knollys before he could seduce her. In some ways, she reminded him of Valerie D'Estaing, only younger and far less depraved.

“I believe I have made some friends here.”

“Indeed,” Napier said with a knowing smile. “And have you detected any loss of fervor for the Southern cause?”

“No, I have not, sir. Not even among those who have lost loved ones in the fighting. They are still ready to bear any burden to keep their nation independent and to retain slavery. Some of their determination may be economic as well as principled. The wealthy could lose all if the North prevails and the slaves are freed, while the poor could find themselves displaced at the bottom of the economic ladder by Negroes should that occur.” He shuddered in mock drama. “The poor whites here are even more miserable creatures than the shanty Irish.”

“Then they would be astonished to know that Jefferson Davis has promised to end slavery.”

Knollys paused before plunging in with the next comment. “Sir, I question whether Mr. Davis has that power. The Confederacy was founded on the premise of states' rights, and I cannot see him having support for that throughout his nation. Without it, sir, no slave will ever be freed.”

“I know,” said Napier. “Lord Lyons has reported that theory to Palmerston, who was most unhappy with him for even having brought it up. The prime minister believes he has an agreement with Mr. Davis regarding the slaves. I heard it from Palmerston himself, and it was one of the reasons I accepted this command.”

Napier sipped his brandy and took a deep puff on his cigar. “For Palmerston's government, it is essential that the Confederates dispose of their slaves at the first practicable moment. If they renege, it is possible that Palmerston's government will fall. But if, as you say, Davis hasn't the power, then why did he make such an agreement with us?”

“One can only speculate, General. Mr. Davis is reputed to be an honest and honorable man. Perhaps he felt and still feels that he can deliver on his promise? Perhaps he was desperate for our assistance and was willing to promise anything in hopes that the need to do so would go away once the war was won?” He paused in thought. “Perhaps the prime minister misunderstands.”

Napier leaned back thoughtfully. The British people's support of an increasingly unpopular war was significantly dependent on the open secret that the South would do the decent thing and free her slaves in gratitude for British help. If Davis could not deliver on this promise, than the relationship between Great Britain and the Confederacy could be shaken to its core. Perhaps even shattered.

“Knollys, are you aware that Mr. Disraeli is en route to discuss matters with Davis and his secretary of state, Mr. Benjamin?”

“No, sir, I was not,” he said.

Knollys felt it amusing that, in a world where Jews were not politically significant, both Disraeli and Benjamin were considered Jewish. The fact that both had acknowledged Christianity made no difference. They were still Jews. Knollys had never in his life dealt with a Hebrew as an equal, and now there were two who were his superiors in government service. He was not sure he liked that. He was just as sure that he didn't have a choice.

A sergeant knocked on the door. “Sorry for the interruption, sir, but there's news from Richmond.”

Napier smiled genially. “Have we won the war?”

The sergeant was momentarily confused, then recovered and smiled tentatively. “No: sir. Nothin' that sweet.”

“Then what is it, Sergeant?”

“Mr. Lincoln has gone and freed all the slaves, sir.”

“The freeing of the slaves is so thrilling it is almost beyond measure.” Rebecca said. She was ecstatic. She turned and swirled around the room. Nathan had never seen her this excited and animated, and decided he liked it.

“I was rather hoping my safe return would be thrilling beyond measure,” Nathan teased.

“Of course it is,” she laughed and slapped him gently on the knee as she sat on the couch beside him.

Her face was flushed with excitement, and the scar on her chin and neck stood out. Funny, he thought, but she wasn't at all concerned about it anymore. There was no attempt to hide it with a scarf or a high-necked gown. He wondered if it was like his limp. He no longer even thought about using a cane for assistance, although he still carried it as a weapon.

They were seated in Nathan and Scott's library. The general was upstairs taking a nap, Sergeant Fromm had disappeared into town on an errand, and Bridget Conlin was rattling around in the kitchen. It was as alone as the two of them had ever been, and the light touch of her hand on his leg had sent an almost electric jolt through him.

“I am more than delighted to have you return, Nathan, but the Emancipation Proclamation represents a sort of culmination of what so many of us have worked years for.”

“I know,” he said. She had leaned against him in a gesture that was tender and familiar. Nathan made no attempt to shift; the feel of her next to him was just too delicious. He had promised her he would never compare her to Amy, but the affectionate, intimate, comfortable gesture was virtually the same as with his late wife. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and she leaned her head back against it.

Nathan had returned to his Washington home that morning. With the situation in Canada stabilized, he felt he could be more useful back in the capital. Grant had concurred and released him from their informal arrangement. “No more armies for you to get to surrender,” the general had said with a grin.

Nathan had not relinquished either his uniform, his rank, or the authorization that identified him as one of Grant's staff officers. He had found that he liked being back in uniform and, despite the carnage he'd seen, he believed that he had done something useful in saving a number of lives both at London and at Hamilton. This had been confirmed with a toast by the British general Hugh Gough at an uncomfortable dinner hosted by General Grant after the surrender of the British forces at Hamilton.

Toronto had fallen without a shot, and the Americans were now well east of the city at Oshawa, and, to the north, had taken Guelph. Grant was consolidating and taking Ontario as he wished. The remaining British forces were frantically entrenching at Ottawa and Montreal, while Grant, unknown to them, had no intention of pursuing them that far. At least not in the foreseeable future.

“Now that the slaves are free, all we have to do is free the slaves,” Nathan said cryptically.

The Emancipation Proclamation had freed only those slaves in the rebelling Confederate states. Those slaves in the so-called border states remained in bondage. Lincoln was able to free the slaves in the rebelling states by acting in his capacity as commander in chief of the armed forces. As such, he was striking at an enemy's capability to wage war. However, he had no such authority over those states not in rebellion; thus, their freedom awaited an act of Congress. This was being debated, with the only problem to be resolved being the amount of compensation to be paid to the slave owners.

In the meantime. Lincoln had promised a grant of one hundred dollars for each adult slave who made it north from the Confederacy. This would be given either in cash, land for resettlement, or passage back to Africa. In conversations with free black men, the Union government and the abolitionists had been astonished at how few wanted to go to Africa, even to Liberia, the nation founded by the United States on behalf of freed slaves. The vast majority of the black freemen had been in the United States all their lives, as had generations before them. The importation of slaves had been legally halted more than a half century before; thus, many Negroes were descended from slaves who'd arrived in America well before many white people. They had no cultural ties to Africa, only the faintest possibility of distant relatives in the Dark Continent, as few blacks had any real idea where in that enormous continent their ancestors had come from, and no desire to go to a land they all perceived as savage and barbaric.

The United States had terrible problems regarding Negroes, but to most black people it was still better than living in Africa. Or the Confederacy.

The freeing of the slaves was considered a major political stroke against Great Britain, as it put England squarely on the side of slaveholders. Previously, she could claim that the North held slaves, too, so what was the difference? The British government had quickly tried to claim that the retention of slavery in the border states was blatant cynicism on the part of Lincoln; thus the urgency to pass the legislation that would free slaves everywhere. It amused Lincoln and Seward to be outmaneuvering the old fox, Lord Palmerston.

General Scott had commented that the outflow of slaves from the South would be crippling economically to the Confederacy, and would be damaging militarily. Many troops would have to be assigned to protect slave owners' property and to return those slaves who attempted to migrate north.

Militarily, the North had won a great victory in Canada. Politically and morally, the North had won a great victory with the Emancipation Proclamation.

“I have missed you,” Rebecca said, “and your fame as a negotiator goes before you.”

“When you're in a position of such enormous strength as General Grant was, you are dictating, not negotiating,” he said. Although only a colonel in an army filled with colonels, he had noted a degree of respect conferred on him in brief meetings with other officers encountered en route to Washington. It was heady stuff, and later he was to meet with Lincoln and Stanton to discuss both Grant and the Canadian situation.

She shifted so that she was kneeling on the couch and facing him. She was not wearing hoops, which would have made the move ludicrous, if not impossible, and she moved with a dancer's grace. “Enough of politics and emancipations,” she said with a catlike smile.

Nathan pulled her to him and she slid across his lap. Her arms went about his neck and they kissed with an intensity that astonished both of them. They broke free and stared at each other. Then they laughed softly.

“Like young adolescent children, aren't we?” Nathan grinned.

“But alone,” she whispered. She recalled her brothers taking young girls into the shed behind the house and returning later all disheveled and flushed. She laughed inwardly at the memory. None of her brothers friends had tried to take her into the shed.

They kissed again and Nathan felt himself getting aroused. For a moment he felt embarrassed, then reminded himself that Rebecca'd been married for several years and doubtless knew what was happening to his body.

She pulled her lips away. “Do you know what the future will bring, Nathan?”

“I don't have a clue,” he said hoarsely. “But I hope and pray that a large part of it will be with you.”

“As do I, dearest Nathan. But we are alone for the first time since we met, although it's likely to end at any moment. So let us take advantage of it while we might and, yes, like adolescent children.”

Again they kissed. Nathan's hand cupped her breast. She withdrew it, smiled, and unbuttoned the top of her dress so he could slide it in and caress her bare flesh.

She groaned as the feel of his hand on her nipple erased any other memories. “Whenever you want me. I'll be your lover.” she said. Their caresses were more actual lovemaking than she'd had in three years of marriage.

“You already are my lover,” he muttered as he nibbled her ear. Both knew their culmination wouldn't be this afternoon or even in the foreseeable future. The house, however large, was too small for them to be unnoticed, and it would not do for them to attract attention. They would wait for the right time and place.

Hannibal Watson fired his shotgun directly at the oncoming horse and rider. Both buckled and fell heavily as the shotgun pellets shredded their skin. The horse scrambled to its feet blind and screaming like something demented. One eye hung from a socket. The rider, a white man in his early twenties, was on his hands and knees and covered with blood. Hannibal drew his knife and slashed across the man's neck. He slumped and lay still as his blood gushed out onto the ground.

All around Hannibal, a dozen other skirmishes were taking place as black man and white man hacked and shot each other. The battle had been accidental. The two groups had blundered into each other while moving down the same trail. In neither case was there time to deploy or withdraw. In seconds, they were all fighting for their lives.

The freed slaves were winning, although a number of black bodies lay on the ground. They outnumbered the white riders about two to one, and, while the surprise had been mutual, Hannibal's men had reacted more quickly and with a ferocity born of desperation.

In a moment, it was over and a half dozen riders flew for safety down the trail. Once again, Hannibal groaned, they had left survivors who would bring still more riders back down on them. Hannibal thought they were close to the Tennessee border, but he wasn't sure. Having to avoid towns and roads made telling distance a good trick.

It also looked like his earlier fear that they would never see freedom in the North was coming true. The Emancipation Proclamation had resulted in a doubling and redoubling of Confederate patrols in an attempt to catch slaves fleeing north. The lure of freedom and the promise of money, some said a thousand dollars while most thought it was a hundred, was virtually irresistible, especially to those slaves who were young and strong. Older slaves might be afraid of the effort needed, or be too sickly to try, but a large number of young slaves were more than restive. They wanted their freedom, and they wanted it now.

“Gather everything,” Hannibal yelled. His people, those who were left, were too busy celebrating. The fools. The time for celebrating would be later, if ever. Once he'd had more than a hundred people, but constant skirmishing and marching had whittled that down to half and this days fighting had further depleted his numbers.

“They'll be back,” Hannibal hollered again and saw that he'd finally gotten their attention. “And this time there'll be more of them. That was militia we fought and not just red-neck slave catchers. Where there's some militia, you'll find a lot more. Let's go!”

Buck kicked and cajoled some of the more tired onto their feet. They'd just fought a hard battle. They were exhausted and many were wounded, some badly. These could not be taken on the retreat, as they would slow down the healthy. Those who could not get up and who did not look like they could keep up, were quickly dispatched by Buck, who was not deterred by their feeble cries of protest. It had to be done. One of them was Bessie, who'd been with them since the first day and who had pretended to be a lost slave on more than one occasion. Her arm had almost been severed by a sabre slash and her blood puddled beside her.

“Ah'm sorry,” Buck said and killed her as quickly as he could. It was a mercy. If she didn't bleed to death, she would have been captured, tortured, and hanged by the white men.

They had collected a bunch of horses whose riders were dead or dying. Hannibal asked for and got a volunteer to take them off in a direction opposite of where he planned to head. He hoped their pursuers would think that the horses were being ridden by the escaped slaves and follow their tracks. If he was lucky. Hannibal thought, it might buy them a day or two's head start. It upset him that the ruse would also cost him another good man. Once the Negro leading the horses had gotten far enough, he was to turn them loose and then be on his own. There wasn't a chance in a million that he'd be able to find Hannibal since Hannibal had no exact idea where they were going and couldn't tell him where to meet up.

The boy with the horses clattered off. Hannibal counted his “army.” He now had fifteen men and six women, and a couple of each were barely more than children. He wanted to weep but he couldn't show weakness. He was now sure that the only place he would see his beloved Abigail would be in heaven, and he wasn't at all certain he'd be going there when he died.

“Seems like old times,” Nathan said. He and John Hay were enjoying another informal lunch at Harvey's Restaurant on Pennsylvania Avenue. For this occasion, Nathan wore civilian clothes even though he was still a colonel. Hay had brought him a note from President Lincoln confirming him in that rank and further authorizing him to function either as a civilian or an officer at his discretion.

“I love clandestine meetings like this,” Hay grinned. “I get to eat like a hog and charge the cost of this meal to the government.” Nathan arched an eyebrow in amusement. “You mean there's money left? I thought Mrs. Lincoln had spent all of it.” Hay sighed. “She's trying her damndest, Nathan. Her absolute damndest.”

There were numerous rumors in Washington that the nervous and insecure Mary Todd Lincoln had tried to calm her fear that she didn't belong in the White House by grossly overspending the allowance provided for the Lincolns by Congress. The money was to cover the living expenses of the president and his family as well as the costs of running the White House. As a result of her profligacy, Lincoln was finding it necessary to pay bills out of his personal resources. Lincoln was far from poor, but he did not have the wealth to support both the operations of the White House and his wife's expenditures.

The result of all this was that the unnerved Mrs. Lincoln was even more insecure than ever.

“Fortunately,” Hay continued, “there are some other accounts the poor lady doesn't know about.”

“I hope you can keep it that way,” Nathan said. “Now, what does the president wish to know that is so important as to result in this meal? May I presume it's about Canada?”

“You may, or more precisely, it's about General Grant.”

“I never saw him take a single drink,” Nathan said, anticipating the question.

“Wonderful,” Hay said with such evident relief that Nathan was surprised.

“What had you heard that was different?”

“It appears that General Halleck is not General Grant's greatest supporter. He's hinted very broadly that General Grant was intoxicated on several occasions and that the battle of Dundas Street was really won by Sherman and Thomas. It's said that Grant sat and did nothing while the battle raged.”

Nathan shook his head. “John, did you ever shoot an arrow?”

“A couple of times,” Hay said, puzzled. “And with astonishing lack of skill. I'm not too certain I even hit the ground.”

“Skill doesn't matter for this example. Once you've aimed and let the arrow fly, what can you do about it?”

“Nothing. What's your point?”

“Simply this. Once the battle's planned and joined, it is up to subordinates to carry out their orders, and to anticipate and resolve problems in their areas. Thus, there truly is very little for a commander to do when the fighting starts except to remember that no battle ever goes as planned. Therefore, a general like Grant has to have faith in his subordinates to make the adjustments necessary once the fighting commences. The arrow has flown once the battle begins and there's no way it can be retrieved. All a commander can do is wait until and if his intervention is needed. In the Battle of Dundas, it wasn't needed. General Thomas held like he was supposed to, so did Baldy Smith. General Sherman's flanking movement went off pretty much on schedule. He met stronger resistance than he thought he would from the Canadians, but Sherman solved that problem himself. There was no reason to involve the army^’ s commander in a decision that affected one corps. Same with Thomas and Smith when the Brits started to move out. They began to push them on their own initiative and both men simply kept Grant informed to the best of their own abilities.

“I don't want to say that the outcome was foreordained, John, but the British had very little chance of winning the battle. It was great skill and bravery on their part that prevented their annihilation, although it only delayed the inevitable.”

“It is a far different picture from the one Halleck painted,” Hay said.

Nathan laughed. “Methinks General Halleck is very jealous of Grant's abilities.”

“So I've heard.” Hay said sheepishly.

“I seem to recall General Scott saying that very same thing. Old Brains will never be half the fighting general that Grant is and it must gnaw at him. Halleck has an enormous ego. Unfortunately, it's far greater than his skills. I would strongly suggest that Mr. Lincoln not worry about General Grant. In my opinion, he is the perfect man for command in this new and modern kind of war. He understands it, which is more than I can say about poor General Cardigan.”

“So it was all right for Grant to do nothing during the battle?”

Nathan finished his mug of beer and wiped the foam off his lip. “Actually, he didn't sit and do nothing. He was quite busy.”

“Oh, really. That's good news. What was he doing?”

Nathan couldn't resist. “Actually, he was smoking cigars and whittling.”