1862

Chapter Seventeen

Benjamin Disraeli had been chosen by Palmerston to represent Great Britain's interests in discussions with the Confederate government. It was a mistake. Although brilliant intellectually, the fifty-eight-year-old novelist-turned-politician had proven to be too flamboyant in his clothing and speech for the conservative and nearly puritanical Jefferson Davis and his government to stomach.

Davis met briefly with Disraeli and, after determining that he didn't want a second meeting, left Disraeli to discuss Palmerston's concerns with Judah P. Benjamin, the secretary of state of the Confederacy. It was presumed that the two would hit it off because both were Jewish. This was both wrong and a mistake. As each had converted from Judaism to Christianity, they were both distrustful of the others motives for doing so. However, the major problem with any relationship between the two men was Disraeli's arrogance and, for Benjamin, the British emissary's wild dress and behavior.

“It only proves,” said Brigadier General Garnet Wolsey, “that our beloved prime minister is not omniscient.” Wolsey had arrived with Disraeli to augment the small military staff in Richmond. His presence brought it to a total of three officers: General Napier, Major Knollys, and himself.

Within days of the surrender at Hamilton, Wolsey had been exchanged for the officers of the American frigateSt. Lawrence, sunk by the Royal Navy so many months before. Generals Gough and Campbell still awaited their turn, while the other officers and enlisted men languished in a prison camp near Sarnia.

“Not only didn't the two men see eye to eye as Jews,” Wolsey said to Napier and Knollys, “but Disraeli was overheard saying that Richmond is a stagnant sewer of a town, and that the people are all illiterate and unwashed savages.”

Napier chuckled. “I believe we all think that; however, we do not run around saying it where it can be heard.”

“Hear, hear,” said Knollys.

Wolsey winked at Napier. “Major Knollys finds Richmond quite charming ever since he bagged the lovely Miss DeLisle.”

Knollys was unabashed. “It makes many things palatable, General. Including, I might add, Miss DeLisle.”

Napier and Wolsey laughed. “But still, there will be an invasion northward,” said Napier. “Won't there?”

Wolsey had been functioning as Disraeli's military adviser during the abortive negotiations. What had finally been agreed on had not yet been transmitted to Lord Lyons or the rest of the British delegation.

“Quite possibly,” Wolsey said with a sly smile.

“Excellent,” said Napier.

“Wait for the other shoe to drop,” said Wolsey.

“What did we promise now?” muttered Napier while Knollys kept prudent silence.

“Weapons and ammunition for one thing. We will be stripping British armories for Enfields and cannon to send over. What we have been sending will not be enough to prepare for a battle.”

“Acceptable,” said Napier, “and not at all surprising.”

“We will also send troops. One full corps of two divisions of infantry and two regiments of cavalry.”

“Good grief,” said Knollys. “Where shall we find them?”

“From the garrisons in Great Britain. Recruiting has been stepped up and there have been some successes. A number of regiments are now at or near full strength. These will arrive along with selected colonial forces from Australia, New Zealand, and South Africa. All whites, of course. The white population of New Zealand is quite small, but more than a million free whites live in Australia. They ought to be able to provide a regiment or two. The same with South Africa.”

Napier was not entirely pleased, although he couldn't put his finger on why. Then it dawned on him. “Good lord, those are the troops that were going to reinforce Canada!”

“They are indeed, sir,” said Wolsey. “Palmerston has decided that Canada, which is virtually lost anyhow, shall be hung out to dry. It is essential that the Confederacy succeed and, thanks to Disraeli's muck-up with his fellow Hebrew, Benjamin, we are required to commit to an active support of Robert E. Lee's invasion northward.”

“When?” asked Knollys.

“Don't worry, John,” teased Wolsey, “you shan't miss it.

Seriously, it will take place when all the pieces are in order, We have already sent for the troops from Canada, and General Lee has begun to assemble an army from his widely distributed forces,”

“An invasion,” said Napier, Then, he added hopefully, “Who will command?”

“Lee, But you will be appointed to command the British contingent, General Napier, I can only hope that you will permit both John and me to serve with you,”

“Wouldn't have it any other way,” Napier said expansively, It wasn't what he totally wanted, but whoever got that? “And Canada? Is it truly abandoned?”

Wolsey shrugged. “If Montreal and Ottawa fall, which they might anyway, then they fall, With a British army in Canada and a Confederate one at Richmond, we run the risk of being defeated in detail. With our forces combined, we should be able to defeat the Union and whomever they put in command, However, if we win with Lee, then the loss of Canada will become moot, We will get back at the negotiating table what we lose on the field of battle.”

Billy Harwell had just turned eighteen and got a couple of presents from Captain Melcher. That everyone else in the regiment had gotten a new rifle, too, didn't dampen his enthusiasm one bit. Billy, however, had gotten two of the things,

The first was a Henry repeater. He had heard of them before but had never seen one, They had been developed two years prior, but none had yet found their way to the army. Now there were close to four hundred of them being issued to his regiment. The Henry was a fifteen-shot repeater that kept its extra bullets in a tube under the rifle's barrel, You fired, worked a lever that pushed in the next bullet, and fired again. It had several other advantages that made it a truly superior weapon. A specially designed firing pin virtually eliminated the possibility of a misfire, and it used metal cartridges that were premade to a uniform size.

Since a rifleman didn't have to reload very often, it meant that a soldier could fire from a prone or kneeling position, while someone shooting a muzzle-loader usually had to stand to reload, As a sniper, Billy knew that someone who was prone was far less likely to get themselves shot, The Henry, Captain Melcher said, could revolutionize warfare,

In short, it was a killer weapon, So why wasn't everyone getting one?

Captain Melcher laughed. Damned Harwell always had questions, “Rumor has it, Harwell, that the War Department thinks they cost too much and use up ammunition at too fast a pace,” He didn't add that he felt there were fossils in the War Department who didn't want to see any improvements in weapons, and who might be perfectly happy if the army went back to using the crossbow.

“Well ain't using up ammunition the idea, Captain?” Billy asked. “The more you shoot and the faster you shoot, the faster the rebs get sent to hell where they belong.”

“Can't argue,” said Melcher. “Word also has it that we've gotten them since we're supposed to be part of the group guarding the capital if the rebs attack and break through the defenses. Mr. Lincoln has seen the Henry and has ordered that the army get as many as it can as soon as possible.” He didn't add that, if anybody could get the War Department off its ass, it would be the president.

Billy snorted and almost spit out his chaw, He'd picked up on chewing tobacco a few weeks ago and hadn't quite gotten the hang of it, He did, however, know that the normally genial and helpful captain would be mightily pissed if he choked and hawked a gob onto his boots.

“Hell, sir, the rebs gotta come north and attack before they can breakthrough, don't they? Haven't seen much sign of that.”

Melcher agreed that the area had been mercifully quiet. Aside from some patrols and light skirmishing, there had been no action at all. What battles were taking place were doing so in Canada or elsewhere. It was a strange way to fight a war, what with the rebel capital less than a hundred miles away. If this Grant fellow were in command of the Army of the Potomac, things might be a lot different,

The second rifle given to Billy was a British Whitworth and the sight of it took his breath away, “Where'd you get it, sir?”

“Off a dead Britisher outside Toronto, Friend of mine found it and sent it back to me, The redcoats had smashed just about everything else they had before they surrendered, so this was a real lucky find, I had written him about your abilities as a shooter and he thought you might put it to good use,”

The Whitworth was the weapon of choice for snipers in both the Confederate and British armies, It had been designed in the mid-1850s by a British engineer and was based on the Enfield model. It fired a 45-caliber slug detonated by a percussion cap and was fairly primitive in its operation. Still, it was extraordinarily accurate, with a killing range of up to eighteen hundred yards. It had been fitted with a long thin telescope, which made it even more accurate in the right hands, and Melcher was certain that Billy Harwell's were among the best in the army,

“My friend said it fouls fairly quickly and needs to be cleaned every dozen or so shots” Melcher said.

Harwell caressed it lovingly. If the Henry was a sturdy and reliable workhorse, the Whitworth was a sleek Arabian racer. So what if she was a little fragile and temperamental. She would only be used for special occasions. “That won't be a problem, Captain. Can't see me taking more than a handful of shots at a crack, Sharpshooting involves real selective firing.”

No, thought Melcher with a twinge of sadness. Billy wouldn't fire very often at all with the Whitworth. And he wouldn't miss very often either. Hell he rarely missed with an average weapon. How would he fare with a great one like the Whitworth?

Melcher shuddered. Billy'stargets would all be officers just like him. God help them. And God help Billy Harwell. What, he wondered, are we doing to boys like him?

Attila Flynn was intrigued and perplexed by what he saw in Canada. Like most people living in the United States, he'd never been there and had rarely even thought about it. From what little he did know, it was a land to the north that was, for the most part, cold and barren and filled with wolves and bears, and occupied by Brits, crazy Frenchies, and the occasional Eskimo. Thus, he found it surprising that the part of Canada that bordered the United States was prosperous and downright civilized.

It also surprised him that, while its inhabitants were technically British, he held no animosity towards them. Nor were they particularly upset at him. It was easy to see that they had no say in the affairs of state that had led to the famine and other disasters in Ireland. The Canadians were also immigrants who'd left Great Britain because of injustices or lack of opportunity in the mother country. Nor did it surprise him that the Canadians now wanted more of a say in their own affairs. That seemed to be the curse of Britain's empire and it suited Attila just fine. That the Canadians stopped short of demanding total independence was their business. Ireland, however, must be free. Totally free.

And that was the important word: free. 'Patrick,” he said, “what say you to an Irish Free State?”

“First of all,” said General Patrick Ronayne Cleburne, “it's 'General,' not Patrick. I've never given anyone like you permission to call me by my first name. Second, what the devil are you talking about?”

Flynn was not put off by Cleburne's attitude. There were days when the general liked him very little and other days when the general liked him not at all. The man resented the fact that he'd been made a pawn in Flynn's schemes, even though the last of them had resulted in his life being saved. Ah, well. So much for gratitude.

“Dear General, I was thinking of proclaiming an Irish Free State in Ontario. The United States would recognize and protect us, and it would drive the British absolutely mad. Perhaps you would be the first president?”

Cleburne snorted. “If so, then my first act would be to have you shot.”

“Then you would be squandering my talents,” Flynn said equably. “But just think. We Irish are tolerated, but not truly accepted, in the United States. We fight for the Union, but the nicer folks in New York and Boston really want little to do with us. Why not establish our own country in Canada and let those who wish migrate from the United States and elsewhere to it? The land here is marvelously prosperous, and so much of it is still uncultivated. It would also be a haven for future Irish immigrants from the old country. With you and your Irish Legion, we could defend ourself against all comers. And don't tell me you wouldn't like to finally fight the British.”

Cleburne conceded the last point. The Irish Legion, now numbering close to fifteen thousand men, had fired but a few shots in anger against the retreating British. Worse, it was rumored that there would be no great advance along Lake Ontario to Kingston and up the St. Lawrence. The British, contrary to commonly held belief in the Irish Legion, were not stupid, and had brought their own armored steamers into the lake. The American flotilla had been reinforced, but the British presence meant that the naval issue was very much in doubt, and to march along the Canadian side of the lakeshore was a great distance. No one had any doubt that it would occur, but not in the near future.

“I will not change allegiances again,” said Cleburne. “I left England of my own accord and left the Confederacy to satisfy my conscience as well as save my life. But you tricked me into rejoining the United States. I am, however, well satisfied with what has occurred and have changed my mind: I will not shoot you if I ever do have the authority, merely have you flogged to death.”

“Your kindness makes me weep,” said Flynn.

“Hear me, Flynn. I will not change allegiances again, not even for Ireland.”

“Then I will not ask you to. Besides, it is quite likely that Mr. Lincoln would permit no such thing as an Irish Republic in Canada. Let's face it, General. We're little less than nothing in the grand schemes of great powers. We can only hope and wiggle and maneuver for the best.”

But, Flynn thought, what if Britain thought that there might be an Irish Republic forming in Canada? What would that provoke it to do? Would it be better or worse for the cause of Ireland? He would have a drink and think on it. Let Cleburne lead his Legion. Attila Flynn had better things to do.

Prime Minister Lord Palmerston stared at the map on the wall. “With what ease we believe what we wish,” he mused.

“Dryden,” said Lord Russell, correctly identifying the seventeenth-century poet as the source of the quote. “Just don't ask me which of his works. I don't recall.”

Palmerston chuckled softly. “Nor do I. It's just a saying that pops up in my mind every so often.”

“And for what reason?” asked Russell. “Are you saying that we have fooled ourselves?” It wouldn't be the first time, he thought.

“Perhaps we have.”

“Then should we exit the war?”

“Not at this time,” said Palmerston. “I still think victory is achievable, although I admit it will prove more difficult than I had ever imagined. To my chagrin, the Confederacy is a frailer reed than I'd thought. They are strong and tough, and certainly brave enough, but they lack the numbers to take the battle to the Union; thus, they rely on an aggressive defense to keep the Union away. As a result, although they cannot lose the war with that strategy, we cannot win it. Consequently, we have a dilemma.”

“We've both won and lost” Russell said, “when we truly thought we’d only win. Canada is virtually gone. One more Union advance and our presence in North America will solely consist of Newfoundland and Nova Scotia.”

The thought was more than upsetting. Less than a century ago. England was the absolute master of North America, with only impotent Spain holding any territory. Now, England was on the verge of becoming a footnote on the continent. Small American forces had reached the Russians in Alaska, totally sealing off any western approach to Canada, and with the Great Lakes now basically American waters, access to the interior could only be through Hudson Bay, which was icebound for much of the year. Fortunately, there was very little in the interior of Canada that could be thought of as civilization. And the American victories in Canada had totally cowed the Indians, thus removing a potential thorny problem for the United States.

There had been some gains for England. The powerful but slow American steam sloops of war were being picked off one by one by larger, faster, and more numerous British vessels. Now it was estimated that only a couple roamed the oceans, and their capture or destruction was only a matter of time. Lesser American commerce raiders were also being taken at a considerable rate. After much hesitation, the Royal Navy was definitely in position to say that Britannia did indeed rule the waves.

“I still hold that we must win this year.” said Palmerston. “Our European cousins are ready to profit at our expense if this drags on too long. Russia is already covertly helping the Americans. Lord knows what information and promises their ambassador in Washington, the duplicitous Baron Edward de Stoeckl, has made and provided, but you can be assured that they will not be helpful to our cause.”

“And the Prussians are restive,” Russell added. “With Bismarck as prime minister, they'll begin wars, I'm afraid, to achieve their aims of unifying Germany. It may take them a couple of decades, but they will doubtless succeed and then look elsewhere. We, of course, will be that elsewhere.”

Palmerston nodded. “But it is France that concerns me. Granted, she is up to her neck in Mexico, thanks to the Union's support of the rebels, but she may be our next immediate threat when she disengages from North America.”

“You believe France will lose in Mexico?”

“Absolutely.” Palmerston replied. “Then she will be fixated on us as in the past. She will forget that we were allies in the Crimea and begin maneuvering against us. Perhaps she will ally herself with Prussia. We must never forget that France is our traditional enemy.

“But let us return to our immediate problem, the Confederacy,” Palmerston said. “I am amazed that anyone gave serious thought to the theory that the Southern states would wish to return to the bosom of Mother England.”

Russell could not stifle his laugh. On his return from Virginia, former consul in Charleston James Bunch had been preaching to anyone who would listen his sincere belief that the South wanted to become part of England again. The truth of the matter was that the South was populated with obstreperous, opinionated, contrary, and highly independent Americans who wanted no part of belonging to the British Empire. Bunch had deluded himself into thinking that support for England could be translated into obeisance to her.

“On several occasions,” said Palmerston, “I have mentioned that I am both impressed and horrified at the industrial might of the North. Look at what they are doing! They are fighting a war with both the Confederacy and England, yet they are able to fulfill all their needs for military equipment and then some. I am stunned to realize that they are both outfitting the Mexicans against France and building warships for sale to Italy. Good grief, is there no end to their potential?”

“Which is why the war must end,” said Russell.

“Precisely. The South has agreed to one shot at the North, providing we equip their army and support it with our soldiers. Thanks to that blundering idiot Cardigan, any troops we send to North America should be to protect Canada. However, we must forgo Canada and send them to Richmond.”

“When they arrive it will be common knowledge. Neither side seems able to keep a secret of any magnitude.”

Palmerston nodded. “Fortunately, I do not think the Americans will be aware of it before the troops disembark at Norfolk. By then it will be too late for Mr. Lincoln to react. They will know beforehand, of course, that General Lee is forming his forces for a move north, but the Union will not know of our participation until it is too late. I have cabled General Napier in Richmond that I have every confidence in his ability, and have informed Viscount Monck in Canada that he is to tell the Canadian population that reinforcements are expected almost momentarily. He is aware of the lie and understands the need for it.”

“Thank God for the cable,” said Russell, and the comment was endorsed by Palmerston. Even though many messages had come through distorted and the transmission was slow, the cable had proven to be very effective in providing essential and almost instantaneous communications between the two continents. As to the problems in transmission, these were being solved through the simple expedient of relaying a better-quality cable. It would take a while to replace the original, but the engineers were confident that the result would be a telegraphic ability almost equivalent to a short landline.

“If it were not for the cable.” Palmerston said with almost a sigh, “we would be lost for information.”

Although the Royal Navy squadron off New York Harbor had been reinforced since its bloodying by theMonitor, it still constituted a small number of ships to cover a vast area of ocean. As a result, it, like its counterparts in the Chesapeake, made no effort to stop the coastal traffic that had become a constant part of its vigil. The American merchant ships stayed well close to their own coast and shore batteries, and not even the presence of a large merchant ship would tempt the British closer to shore.

The British had learned to their dismay that the Americans were perfectly capable of using a fat-looking merchant as a stalking horse in order to draw a British ship close to hidden American batteries, where they would try to pound it to pieces. The Americans had gone so far as to mount large mortars on trains and run them along the coast. While the British hadn't actually lost a ship to these tricks, they'd had a few damaged. As a result, the British squadron had affected a live-and-let-live attitude regarding nonmilitary coastal traffic. It was a policy that was quite expedient, even essential.

Thus, although the British did see the barge being pulled by the tug, they made no note of it. As one wag on a warship put it, it was hardly a barge of war. It was also not the first barge to pass by, although it was one of the larger ones. It was piled high with what looked like debris from the burning of the city. Where the barge and its load of trash were being taken was of no concern or importance to the British watchers. They let it continue on down the coast as they had so many others, watching it only until it disappeared.

A day or so later, another large and similarly loaded barge made the trip and was likewise unimpeded. So, too, was a third, and then a fourth, but, by this time, the British weren't even bothering to count. Then there were no more oversized barges heading south, and no one in the British squadron gave a damn one way or the other.

And no one had noticed that not a single one of the barges had made the return trip to New York.

Hannibal Watson heard the dogs closing in on him. There was nothing more frightening to him than the baying of the hounds. In his mind he could see their wild eyes and the wicked teeth that wanted to rip his flesh from his bones.

He was alone now and the end was near. His attempt to hide in the woods had been a failure. A cunning Confederate commander had divined the ruse and split his forces, sending some against Hannibal and the others against the horses being led by one boy whom Hannibal hoped had escaped.

The rebel commander had greatly outnumbered the remnants of Hannibal's group, which had made such a split feasible. As a result, trackers had soon picked up the faint trail left by Hannibal's followers as they fled on foot into the thickets. As the fleeing slaves grew more and more fatigued from the chase, they made more and more mistakes and left an easier trail to follow.

A little more than an hour before, a swarm of cavalry had overwhelmed them where they'd lain on the ground, panting and heaving like exhausted animals.

Hannibal'd seen Buck go down under a sabre and watched as the others fell under pistols and rifles. He'd had the good fortune to be in the woods relieving himself when the attack had occurred. Selfish as it seemed, he'd hoped no one had noticed he was missing. That, however, was not to be.

Perhaps a couple of his people had been taken alive and been forced to talk, telling their captors that Hannibal Watson, their leader, had escaped. Maybe they'd been promised freedom for their information. If so, it was a promise Hannibal was certain the white men would never keep. It was possible that whoever had informed on him had been tortured for the information. He knew no one who wouldn't condemn his own mother if someone was holding a branding iron to his testicles.

Just as likely, though, they had his description from one of the people who'd escaped and hadn't recognized him among the dead or taken.

There was some satisfaction in knowing that they'd brought a mighty host against him. He'd personally counted at last two hundred cavalry, with many more making noise in the distance, while a large number of infantry tramped through the woods.

Now he could hear human voices above the baying of the hounds. He wished he had a gun so he could kill one or two of them and force them to kill him. He wished he could put the gun to his head and blow his own brains out, depriving the white bastards of the opportunity to hang him. But no, he had lost it in the chase and was unarmed. He didn't even have a knife to use on an enemy or to slash his own wrists. If there had been a cliff nearby he thought he would hurl himself off it to prevent capture and what he knew was going to be a miserable death. But there was nothing. He couldn't get away and he couldn't get himself killed.

Now he could distinguish the words and commands. He was surrounded, trapped like a rat or a mad dog. He began to shake with fear and rage. He prayed to a God whose existence he'd doubted for a long time. He prayed for a fast death.