1862

Chapter Seven

Rebecca took Nathan’s hand and led him through the myriad and jumbled stones of the graveyard just across the Potomac in Alexandria. Some of the stones were quite old, dating back to the last century, but a number of them were new: very new, and belonged to the dead of the new war.

They stopped before one of the newer ones, It simply said, “Thomas Devon, b, March 7, 1824, d, August 15, 1861.” Nathan realized with a jolt that Rebecca's husband had taken awhile to die after Bull Run.

“His wound was hideous,” she said. “He'd been shot in the stomach and there was nothing to do for him but to use narcotics to keep the pain at bay.”

Every soldier knew that to be gut shot was to be killed, whether it happened immediately or agonizing days later. The bullet invariably ripped the intestines, which spilled filth into the body. Death was inevitable and often longed for.

“I found him in the hospital and brought him home.” She had been horrified by the scenes of horror and filth. Even though she had no love for him, she could not let a dog die like that. “For a while we thought he would be one of the few lucky ones who survive such a wound, but it was not to be. His agonies were terrible. Sometimes he cursed me and tried to blame me for his torment.

“Morphine was in short supply,” she continued. “Several times I had to buy opium from disreputable people in the slums south of Pennsylvania Avenue. They saw me so often they probably thought I was addicted to it and not buying it for medical purposes.”

On more than one occasion she had been offered the opium in return for sex. These had included traditional sex as well as other varieties. She later told Valerie she'd been rendered nearly speechless when one drug seller asked if she'd like to suck his cock in payment for the opium.

“It must have been extremely difficult for you,” Nathan said in what he realized was an understatement. “Death was a mercy for both of us. Did you know I was one of the fools who went to watch the battle?”

When the Union army under McDowell had finally marched south from Washington, its departure was hardly a secret. It had also been no secret that the Confederates were only a few miles away at Manassas Junction, or the creek called Bull Run.

Along with thousands of others, Rebecca and the D'Estaings had taken a carriage out to watch the pageant. They'd camped on a crowded hilltop and picnicked while the battle commenced before them.

“It was all so exciting,” she said. “There was the boom of cannon and the rattle of muskets. We couldn't see the entire battlefield, of course, but we did see a portion of it where there was actually some fighting. We cheered when Union soldiers advanced. It was then that I realized that the men who were falling and lying on the ground weren't acting in a pageant. They were dead and dying. Thank God we were too far away to hear their screams.”

She took his arm and guided him away from the grave site. “After a while, we saw Union soldiers running away and past us. We thought they were cowards and yelled at them to return to the battle. Then the trickle of humanity became a flood and we realized that the North had lost the battle. We left the field in a panic along with a score of senators and representatives. The rebels were coming, we thought, and we didn't want to be captured. As we headed north, we found several wounded by the side of the road. We put them in the carriage and tried to make them comfortable. It was then that I really saw the horror of war. Their wounds were terrible. One poor boy'd had his arm torn off. He died before we reached a hospital.

“Some horsemen rode by and Valerie said they were rebels. They were wild-looking and shaggy, and when they looked into the carriage and saw the wounded, I thought they would kill us. The leader, though, just nodded at us and rode off. It wasn't until later that I found out that Tom had been mortally wounded and carried off the field in a carriage like mine.”

“It was such an innocent beginning to terrible times,” he said.

She looked at his strong calm face. '^: No more so than when your wife died and you were helpless to do anything about it.”

“True. For the longest time I blamed the army doctors for being so incompetent as to be unable to cure a simple fever. Now I know they weren't incompetent, just ignorant. They actually bled her and purged her in an attempt to cure her. I was a soldier and understood that a man needs blood to live and food for nourishment. It made no sense to deprive a sick person of either, much less both. I thought it was criminal, but I don't feel that way anymore.” He laughed harshly. “Just think. Victoria, queen of England, couldn't find doctors to cure her husband. How on earth could I think anyone would save my dear Amy?”

It was a bright but cold day and they were able to walk down the street in comfort. They would return to their carriage at their leisure. Both would have preferred horseback, but it was still a little chilly for that.

“At first I thought Tom had died because of me,” she said. “I thought he'd enlisted to show me he was a warrior and impress me. Then I found his diary in which he said he did it because he thought it would be a great adventure and possibly save him if his criminal activities were discovered, and what I thought didn't matter at all.”

She did not tell him of the graft and kickbacks he'd written about, or about the woman he'd kept as a mistress. Those secrets would keep, perhaps forever. However, he did understand that their marriage had been a loveless one and that she'd cared for Tom until his death out of a sense of duty, not affection.

“I'm honored that you've told me all this,” Nathan said.

“I have my reasons, Mr. Hunter,” she said with a nervous smile. She was about to take a large step. “I find myself growing fond of you and I believe you are equally fond of me.”

“I am,” he said softly and she exhaled with relief.

“Unless everyone in Washington is mistaken,” she continued, “the army will again march south in a couple of days, and you'll be with it, won't you?”

“Yes.” McClellan had kept his word. Written permission to accompany the headquarters of the Army of the Potomac had come through.

“Very simply, Nathan Hunter, I do not wish you harmed.”

Her hand was in the crook of his arm and he put his other hand over it. “Let me assure you. Rebecca Devon, that I have no wish for that either. I will be with McClellan's headquarters and not at the front. The days of generals actually leading their armies are gone. Caesar might have done it but neither McClellan, nor Lee for that matter, will consider it.”

“I know. I'm being greedy, but I don't want to lose you so soon after finding you.”

Nathan smiled and gave her a mock bow. “I'm proud and honored to be the object of your greed.”

They turned and walked back to the carriage. Rebecca smiled contentedly. She had been a polite aggressor and it had worked. Along with gentle touches, they were also calling each other by their first names. It was yet another small step forward.

The Royal Navy's steam frigate HMSGorgon rode easily in the gentle swells off the entrance to New York Harbor. Along with two other steam frigates and a trio of small sloops, this was the entire Royal Navy force that was available to blockade the entire port of New York. The bulk of the fleet, along with the mightyWarrior, was off Norfolk, where a base was being established.

It was morning and a soft mist covered the sea's gentle swells. Above the mist, the sun was shining, which made it look much warmer than it was. The crews were not deceived and were bundled in winter clothing against the sharp chill.

In the distance, the batteries on Staten Island and Long Island covered the approaches to New York City. In the harbor, there were fingers of coal smoke above the mist as some ships moved about in the harbor. This was not a concern as American ships were always shuttling about.

TheGorgon kept station three miles from the shore, which put her just out of range of the largest guns the Americans had. The Americans had been humiliated by the bombardment of Boston, and had reacted with astonishing quickness and built seaward defenses at other ports. As a result, the shoreline bristled with cannon, and theGorgon and her sisters stayed prudently out of range.

It was a boring way to run a war, thought David Hawkes, the captain of theGorgon, but attempting to run the batteries would be suicidal insanity. The ships on patrol outside New York simply hadn't the firepower for the task.

“Ship ahoy,” came the cry from the lookout. “She's coming through the channel”

“What kind of ship?” Captain Hawkes yelled in exasperation. He was also acting commodore of the small squadron and felt the heavyweight of responsibility on his shoulders.

“Can't tell, sir. The mist is hiding her.”

Then she can't be too big, thought Hawkes. Still, it was coming from the enemy city, so she must be considered hostile. He ordered theGorgon ready to do battle. Her decks were cleared for action, and additional steam was provided. If it was a blockade-runner, he'd take her.

“What the devil is that?” he said as he squinted into the thinning mist at a low shape in the water that had begun to appear. Whatever it was, it was moving slowly towards theGorgon. “Sir,” said Lieutenant Freeland, his second in command. “I do believe it's their ironclad, theMonitor.”

Hawkes grinned. Yes, that's exactly what it was and he was going to have the opportunity to blow her out of the water. As the mist cleared, he saw that the ironclad was much smaller than his frigate, that her deck was almost flush with the water, and that a bulbous protrusion arose from the flat deck. He saw no guns, which puzzled him.

No matter, he thought. If the little American ship had come out to die, he would honor her last request. He ordered theGorgon turned broadside to the approaching vessel and, at long range, fired his starboard guns at her.

His crew cheered as the broadside thundered. Hawkes watched as a number of splashes arose around theMonitor. She was difficult to see, although he thought he saw hits on the bulbous thing that sat on top of the ship. TheMonitor ignored them and continued her approach.

“What the devil?” Hawkes wondered. A second broadside roared and this time he did see shells strike and bounce high into the sky off what Freeland said was a turret, There was still no return fire from the American,

The other ships in the British squadron moved closer but were unable to fire for fear of hitting theGorgon as theMonitor drew closer, “Is she going to ram?” Freeland asked.

“No,” Hawkes answered. “She's much too slow and I don't see a ram, No, she's going to close on us and duel,” Now he understood that the turret revolved, and that the guns were not going to be exposed until the last minute. Clever bastards, he thought.

Hawkes ordered a course and speed to run parallel with theMonitor, which was now only a hundred yards away and angling closer, A third broadside roared and, again, with no apparent effect,

“Damn,” snarled Hawkes. TheMonitor had dipped still closer and he doubted that the Gorgon's upper-deck guns could be lowered to reach the American, He had to extend the range, As he pondered this, the turret moved with infinite slowness until two large guns were pointed directly at the Gorgon's hull.

“Eleven-inchers,” Freeland said with professional dispassion. “Probably Dahlgrens.”

The two American guns belched fire. Shells struck low in the hull of the unarmored British ship. Hawkes and others were thrown to the deck by the impact. They were uninjured but there were screams from those less fortunate.

“Keep firing,” he ordered as he lurched to his feet, and then, “What damage?” He was informed that it was substantial, but that it could be contained.

TheMonitor's turret revolved away from theGorgon as the guns were reloaded. Agonizing moments later, the guns returned and again fired, hulling the British frigate. This time there was the scream of machinery crashing in theGorgon's hull, and, within seconds, she started to lose way, This time, the damage was serious and not going to be contained.

“Raise our sails,” Hawkes ordered anxiously. TheGorgon was dead in the water. “We have to be able to move or we're going to be pounded to pieces.”

Before the sails could be raised, theMonitor maneuvered under the Gorgon's stern and fired again. This time the shells ruined the frigate's rudder and smashed through the length of the ship, pulping screaming sailors, On deck, Hawkes could not help but recall that he had done the same thing to the American frigateSt. Lawrence. Was this some kind of retribution? he wondered,

There was no time for speculation, His ship was being shot out from under him by the American infernal contraption, He had to do something, but what? He couldn't move and he couldn't kill the damned thing.

Another American broadside thundered, This time, one shell traversed the entire length of theGorgon, killing and wounding scores, while the second penetrated her hull, just below the waterline, “Can we board her?” Hawkes yelled. A moment later Freeland returned and said yes, the Union ironclad was that close under theGorgon 's stern.

Freeiand organized a boarding party and gathered them at the stern, Ropes were lowered that touched the Union vessel's deck, That was her Achilles' heel, Hawkes thought, Within seconds, dozens of British tars would slide down the ropes and overwhelm theMonitors crew.

On board theMonitor, her captain and crew were giddy with relief and excitement, Despite the pounding from the larger British warship, they were safe, The damned thing actually worked. Shells hit the turret and simply bounced away. With the exception of a couple of men who sustained concussions when the portion of the turret they'd been leaning against had been struck, there were no injuries.

Commander John Worden, theMonitor's captain, felt that he was ripping the guts out of the enemy frigate with each shell. He had just identified the British ship as theGorgon, the destroyer of the St. Lawrence, and both he and his crew appreciated the chance for revenge,

If only theMonitor's guns could be fired more quickly, he'd destroy theGorgon and then move on to the other ships, But it couldn't be, The two guns had to be run into the turret for reloading, which was awkward and took precious time. To protect the gunners, the turret was rotated away from theGorgon during the reloading process. This meant that the men of theMonitor were essentially blind during the five or so minutes this took,

Captain Worden was concerned that his very good luck could end quickly. They were almost in physical contact with theGorgon and he had the sense that they were too far under her overhanging stern, It was a gorgeous place from which to shoot, but it was almost too good to be true.

“Mr. Greene,” he ordered, and Lieutenant Samuel Greene, his second in command, stepped forward, He was as grimy as everyone else in the stifling and noisy turret, but his eyes were bright with the emotion of the battle.

“Mr. Greene, go forward to the pilot house and see what is happening on the Britisher.”

Greene nodded and worked his way forward. The pilot house, a protrusion made of logs and heavy glass windows located on theMonitors bow, had been shot away early in the duel, This meant that he was going to have to stick his unprotected head up into the air to observe theGorgon. It was not a duty that he relished. The world outside the sheltering iron walls of theMonitor was a hailstorm of metal.

He found the ruins of the pilothouse and pulled away enough debris to permit him to raise himself up and see. He gasped. The insides of the Gorgon were visible and a number of fires burned out of control. He could see bodies and chunks of gore lying about and blood running in rivulets along the deck. It was a vision of hell. For a moment he was fascinated by the fact that he could see British sailors moving about and that they hadn't seen him.

Then he sensed something above him and looked upwards. “Jesus:” he blurted. Ropes dangled from the stern of theGorgon and a couple of them had come to rest on the deck of theMonitor. Heads appeared over the railing and it was obvious what was going to happen. Someone yelled and pointed at him.

Greene ducked back inside the hull of theMonitor and ran towards the turret. “Pull back!” he screamed. “We^’ re going to be boarded. Pull the ship back.” The din level in the turret prevented his voice from being heard, but sailors in his way relayed the message. Greene's shrieking left no doubt as to its urgency.

Worden quickly gave the order and the smallMonitor slowly eased away from her dying prey. When they were about fifty yards from the frigate, he took a chance and squinted through the gun port just before the weapons were fired. A half dozen ropes hung down from theGorgon and each one held sailors who were now being pulled back on board the doomed vessel.

“Too close,” Worden muttered. He had learned several great truths regarding his little ship. First, that it was damned near impregnable and, second, that the advantage of impregnability could be thrown away if he wasn't careful.

TheGorgon had commenced taking on water at an enormous rate. The pumps were overwhelmed and she was visibly settling by the stern. Weeping tears of frustration, Hawkes ordered his ship abandoned. His attempt to drop sailors on the Union ship had been a failure. So, too, had been an attempt to launch the ship's boats with men to board her.

However slow theMonitor was, she could move more swiftly than rowed boats. More important, those boats were needed to take men off theGorgon, He ordered them back. Honor be damned, Hawkes thought bitterly. Now he had to save himself and his crew from a frigid death.

Hawkes watched as theMonitor turned and headed slowly back towards New York Harbor. The remainder of the blockading force attempted to close on her and they fired at her, virtually at once. Hawkes watched in dismay as several shells from British ships struck other British ships while theMonitor moved unscathed through the shower of metal.

A sloop of war, theAsp, steamed ahead to block theMonitor 's return to the harbor. It was suicide. Hawkes wanted to yell to the captain of theAsp to back off, but could only watch the tragedy unfold. The eleven-inch guns of theMonitor spokebut once. They struck theAsp amidships and broke the back of the sloop. She immediately began to burn and sink while theMonitor disappeared into the sanctuary of New York Harbor.

Dozens of men from theAsp had either fallen or thrown themselves into the water. In just a few moments, most of them had disappeared under the waves. The combination of cold water and the sad but true fact that sailors were poor swimmers had killed them.

Hawkes had his own problems. Water was lapping at the stern and scores of wounded lay on the deck. Frantic signals to other ships brought more boats that took them off, the last of them just as the dying frigate slid beneath the waves. It was so close that both Hawkes and Freeland simply stepped off the deck of theGorgon and onto a boat.

When Hawkes and Freeland were finally taken aboard another warship, everyone in the squadron knew that something more than the sinking of two ships had occurred. They had just seen the face of naval warfare change.

Captain David Glasgow Farragut was as happy as a naval officer without a command could possibly be. Months ago, he'd been appointed commodore of the squadron that was going to attack New Orleans, but that mission had been aborted when England entered the war. The sixty-year-old Farragut understood, but still hated it. He'd fought the British as a junior officer in the War of 1812, and now wanted an opportunity to strike at them again.

Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles's exceptionally competent assistant. Gustavus Fox, was equally happy. Fox was the power behind Welles's throne, and Farragut understood that Fox was the path to getting a new command.

“Captain Farragut, please tell me how we can exploit theMonitor's victory.”

“Simple,” said Farragut, “build a lot more of the damned things and let me take them right at the British.”

Fox grinned. Farragut's directness was one of his virtues. “How many and how soon? Then tell me about the other new ships.”

TheMonitor hadn't been the only ironclad under construction. Two others, theGalena and theNew Ironsides, were also being built. These, however, were more traditional in that they were ordinary ship designs that were being sheathed in metal. In this, they were smaller versions of the British warshipWarrior, and not radical innovations like theMonitor.

TheMonitor's unique design had been the brainchild of Swedish inventor and shipbuilder John Ericsson. The Swede had been difficult, obstinate, stubborn, cantankerous, and brilliant. His design had performed flawlessly. Almost as important: it had taken only ninety days to build theMonitor.

“Now that we know that the contraption works,” said Farragut, “we can build a lot more of them. I would expect a dozen by fall.”

Farragut was surprised at how easily his change of heart fell from his tongue. Originally, he thought the idea of iron ships contemptible and unworkable. Yet the battle off New York had proven otherwise, and now David Glasgow Farragut believed in ironclads with the fervor that only a convert can show.

“One turret or two?” asked Fox as if he were discussing sugar for tea. It was a point of contention between the navy, which wanted two turrets per ship, and Ericsson, who wanted one. “Two:” Farragut replied adamantly. “Two will double each ship's firepower. And make them at least twelve-inch guns and not elevens. That'll give the British something to chew on.”

“And Ericsson?”

“The great man is wrong, and that's all there is to it. He thinks two turrets'll get in each other's line of fire. They would, if the ship is poorly handled, but, well handled, they can keep up a fairly steady rate of unstoppable fire from an invulnerable platform.”

Fox nodded agreement. “We'll commence building at both New York and Philadelphia. Engineers are copying and modifying designs as we speak. To keep things moving, however, I will recommend to Mr. Welles that we build ships of each design. Thus, a fleet ofMonitor's would have ships with one and two turrets. Do you foresee a problem?”

“None whatever,” Farragut said, conceding what was a minor point. The ships were going to be built, and that was what was important. “Can you expedite theNew Ironsides?'

“Of course, but what of theGalena?”

“A poorly designed abomination. Give me theNew Ironsides and scrap theGalena if you wish.”

TheNew Ironsides was being built in Philadelphia and was scheduled to be launched in May. A steam frigate, she was sheathed amidships with four and a half inches of iron. She would carry sixteen eleven-inch Dahlgrens. which would make her a fearsome enemy. TheGalena was much smaller, a corvette, and it was rumored that she was both top-heavy and would be unable to withstand heavy shelling. Fox agreed. TheGalena would never be finished. Efforts would be concentrated onMonitors,

“And what will the British do?” Fox asked.

“They can do whatever they damn well wish. What they can't do is change what has occurred. Naval warfare will now be forever different.”

Fox grinned. “TheMonitor's victory is a marvelous tonic. And it is particularly pleasing that the first tweaking of Britain has come from the navy, and not the army.”

“Indeed it is,” Farragut said. He visualized the mightyNew Ironsides leading a steady stream of one- and two-turreted ships of what would now be referred to as the Monitor-class pouring out of New York in line of battle to fight the damned British. The ironclads would smash the wooden hulls of the British ships.

Not surprisingly, Farragut visualized himself on the quarterdeck of theNew Ironsides and in command of the entire Union fleet.

Sir James Graham, Great Britain's First Sea Lord, was exasperated. “Prime Minister, I assure you that the presence of the American ironclad was not a total surprise. We knew she was under construction and even knew the weight and thickness of her armor. Dear God, sir, we even had spies helping build her. What we did not know,” he added ruefully, “is how damnably effective she would be.”

Since the fighting took place within sight of land, newspaper reports of the American victory were telegraphed across much of the United States and Canada almost immediately. Some reports had even been sent before theGorgon sank. Thus, the Canadian government was able to cable London with unconfirmed reports of the disaster within hours. Confirmation followed the next day.

Palmerston was not happy, “I am appalled that we had only six ships outside New York and not one of them a ship of the line. Where is the navy? The entire nation is asking that question. Why didn't we have theWarrior on patrol?”

Graham was not intimidated. “The navy is everywhere it should be, Prime Minister. But please recall that, even though we have the mightiest navy in the world and one that is larger than our next two competitors combined, it is still a finite fleet that cannot be everywhere. Tell me, sir, would you really have had theWarrior waiting off New York for the two-gunned and experimentalMonitor toemerge? Should I send her there now? Then what would we do if another such ship appeared out of Boston or Philadelphia? The Royal Navy is limited, sir.”

Palmerston grudgingly agreed that it was senseless to have had the greatest ship in the Royal Navy focused on one ship that mounted only two guns. “But where are the rest of our ships?” he persisted almost plaintively.

“Sir, we have squadrons off New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, while still another squadron is stationed at Norfolk, which is in position to control Chesapeake Bay and the Potomac. That, of course, seals off Baltimore and Washington.

“We have yet other squadrons operating off the Falklands to prevent passage by American ships to the Pacific and off Capetown to block passage to India.”

“And how successful have those actions been?”

“The American coastline is vast,” Graham demurred, “which means there is still significant coastal movement by American ships. We are running into many of the same problems the Union had in blockading the South. It's just too large an area, and there are too many coves for a ship to hide in. However, since much of America's commerce was with us, the fact of the war has shut much of it down. Other European nations, including France, have declined to shut their ports to American shipping, although they will not accept American prizes taken by their navy.”

“As the war has shut American businesses, it has also shut our businesses down,” Palmerston muttered. The economy was being hurt by the war.

“A handful of American warships are operating in the Pacific,” Graham continued. “These were commissioned into the navy and armed from stores available in San Francisco. As in the Atlantic, where American raiders are more numerous, we have still other ships out trying to run them down and sink them.”

“And with precious little success.”

“No argument there, Prime Minister. The oceans are just too vast and there are too many places for the Americans to hide. As they are sinking their captured ships and not taking the ships into port as prizes, we don't know what the damage truly is until a ship is either so long overdue that we finally realize she's gone, or her crew shows up in some foreign port.

“In short, Prime Minister, the Royal Navy cannot be everywhere at all times. For instance, we have no significant ships in the Great Lakes, only a handful of armed schooners.”

“I understand,” Palmerston said glumly, again thanking divine providence that the Americans had made no move towards Canada.

“Do you truly understand?” Graham snapped. Frustration made him momentarily forget that Palmerston was his superior. “Or have you forgotten that we must also keep still another portion of our fleet in European waters to protect our commerce in the Mediterranean and, of course, the North Atlantic? France and Spain may be quiescent, but Russia is delighted that we are up to our naval necks in this war.”

Russia had lost to England and France in the Crimean War, but that had not deterred her expansionist tendencies. Alone among European powers, Russia had sought out the United States and offered friendship short of an alliance. Russia's navy was small, incompetent, and old in comparison with England's, but it was a fleet nonetheless. An unproven rumor held that Russia was permitting American warships in the Pacific to rest and victual in Russia's Alaskan ports.

There was no way to dispute the facts behind Graham's outburst, Palmerston admitted. A large English fleet had to remain in English waters to watch out for the ambitious Tsar Nicholas and his minions.

“And what of theMonitor?” Palmerston asked. Graham's outburst was already forgotten. “The opposition press has described her as a fire-breathing dragon the size of a mountain that would steam across the ocean to bombard our cities.”

Such exaggerations struck Graham as ludicrous and irresponsible. “TheMonitor is a very small vessel that is totally incapable of crossing any ocean, or, for that matter, going more than a few miles from shore in anything but the calmest of seas. She has virtually no freeboard; thus, any wave will swamp her. She is strictly built for harbor and river defense. Further, she has no sails and cannot possibly carry enough food and coal to take her far.”

“But the Americans will surely build others like her.”

“Of course, Prime Minister, and they will deny us access to their harbors, which are already fairly inaccessible because of their strong shore batteries. They will not, however, break our blockade. It will require us to be much more vigilant when the Monitors do come out. For instance, Captain Hawkes suggests avoiding combat with them if possible.”

“Understandable under the circumstances,” Palmerston said drily, causing Graham to chuckle. “I would expect nothing else from a man whose ship had been sunk by one.”

“Indeed. But he is currently the resident expert on fighting Monitors. He said the ironclad is slow, which means our ships should be able to avoid her fairly easily. Thus, we should be able to dance around her until she tires of the game.

“If battle cannot be avoided, Hawkes proposes we fight her with two ships at a time. One will engage with cannon, while the other attempts to ram.”

“Can't the rebels help us? Weren't they building their own ironclad?”

“TheMerrimack, yes. However, when we came into the war. the Confederacy understood that we would break the Union blockade, so they stopped work on her. They are chronically short of guns and armor, so they stripped her of same and shipped the guns and armor to the Mississippi, where they are not doing as well and where we are not there to protect them. It would now take many months to complete theMerrimack”

Again, Palmerston had to accept reality. While failing in the eastern theater, the Union was relatively successful along the Mississippi. The Confederacy had a very real fear of the Union gaining control of the great river. Union success in that arena would mean that the young Confederacy had been cut in two.

“Tell me, Sir James, what will be the long-term impact of theMonitor? What of those who say our ships are now all obsolete? But if theMonitor can't cross the seas, then what good is she?”

“Our ships, sir, are not obsolete. At least not yet, although they soon will be. The Americans have proven that they can take an old idea, a floating battery, and make it mobile and virtually impregnable. What is of primary import about theMonitor is not her armor but her revolving turret. As it is round, any shot striking her must hit at an angle and be subject to deflection. It is a devilishly clever idea and we are already looking at incorporating it on our ships. As the turret turns, it can fire in any direction; thus, fewer, but larger, guns could be put on future ships. I might add that turrets are damnably heavy, which would preclude putting them on smaller ships or even many existing vessels.

“Prime Minister,” Graham continued, “I would anticipate that the problem of Monitors crossing oceans will be solved shortly. It really only means giving the vessel a higher freeboard, which would make her a larger target that, in theory at least, would render her less invulnerable. Thicker armor would resolve that problem.”

“And how would you pierce that armor?” Palmerston asked. He did not like the direction Graham was going. “If theGorgon and her sisters hadn't hurt theMonitor, then what could?”

“Sir, I do not believe that any of the guns currently on our ships could stop or hurt theMonitor, and that includes theWarrior 's. We must design and build not only larger guns but those that fire shaped shells with greater velocity. Sir, you asked if our fleet was obsolete and I answered not yet. However, I predict that, within a couple of years, all nonarmored ships will be useless as a line of battleships.”

Palmerston was aghast. The implications were staggering. The numerical advantage English ships held over those of other nations had just disappeared in one afternoon off New York. Great Britain had to remain preeminent on the seas. Britannia had to rule the waves in order for her empire to exist.

“We will design and build the ships we need to protect our interests regardless of the cost,” Palmerston said glumly. “Other nations will do the same, and that includes both France and the United States. We will be in an arms race with them and we must not lose it.”

The war had suddenly taken a new and expensive turn. There would now be the need to raise funds to finance the new navy. Only two British ships, theWarrior andtheBlack Prince, were what could now be considered “modern.” The navy's problem had come as a complete and unpleasant surprise. Palmerston wondered how many more unpleasant surprises were in store for England.

“We must win and win soon. If victory is not in sight by the end of this year, I don't know what will happen,” Palmerston said.

“The navy will do its part,” said Graham confidently. “As to New York, theAgamemnon will head there and join the blockade when she is finished laying cable from Canada to Norfolk. That will be in a couple of weeks.”

“Excellent,” said Palmerston. TheAgamemnon was an eighty-gun ship of the line when not laying telegraphic cable. “And I'm certain the Confederate army will handle the Union army when the North invades,” Graham added.

There was an irony that Graham didn't understand, thought Palmerston. McClellan's anticipated invasion of the South would be defeated unless Lee did something dreadfully wrong. If the reports of Lee's ability were only half correct, Lee would make no mistakes.

However, if McClellan were defeated, might he be replaced by someone with more skill and vigor? Was the Union winning along the Mississippi because the Confederacy had all its best leaders near Richmond, or was it because the Union had its best along the Mississippi? It was a conundrum. The Union with McClellan was defeatable; therefore, McClellan must stay in command long enough to ensure Confederate victory. If he lost too decisively, he might be replaced.

“And what of Mr. Hawkes?” Palmerston asked, thankful to have another topic to discuss.

Ordinarily, a captain who had his ship shot out from under him was disgraced, even court-martialed. However, this was different. Hawkes was the hero who had sunk theSt. Lawrence; was it his fault that he had been the first to confront the new danger, theMonitor? There were those who said he should have broken off the engagement when he realized he couldn't harm theMonitor, but they weren't there at the battle. Besides, who would want as captain a man who runs from a ship so much smaller than his own? In hindsight, flight would be considered a prudent course of action, but then it would have been cowardice. It did not help that Hawkes was arrogant and had made many enemies. Graham was one of them.

“Captain Hawkes is being reassigned to serve as naval liaison to Russia,” Graham said. “He will depart for St. Petersburg as soon as possible.”

“And when will he get another ship?”

Graham smiled tightly. “When hell freezes over.”