Britannia's Fist: From Civil War to World War

4

WASHINGTON NAVY YARD, WASHINGTON, D.C., 8:00 AM, AUGUST 7, 1863

The President’s carriage clattered through the Navy Yard’s brick gates to the precision salute of the Marine guards. Superintendent Hardwood was aware of Lincoln’s fascination for all things mechanical, and the Yard drew him like a magnet. It was an opportunity to polish the Navy’s reputation with a smart military display. He never did figure out that Lincoln simply didn’t care about that aspect.

What Lincoln cared about was winning the war. He may have been a lawyer from the Prairie State, but he had an instinctive appreciation for the budding technologies of the new and vigorous industrial age. He found the Army and Navy departments hopelessly mired in their own red tape at the expense of innovation. It was as if both services had missed the business revolution that had accompanied the Industrial Revolution. Once he was presented with a committee report on a new naval gun. He glanced at the report that had consumed an entire tree’s worth of paper and exclaimed, “I should want a new lease of life to read this through.” He hurled it on the table. “Why can’t a committee of this kind occasionally exhibit a grain of common sense? If I send a man to buy a horse for me, I expect him to tell me his points-not how many hairs there are in his tail.”

The man with the common sense Lincoln had been seeking had been Capt. John A. Dahlgren, Yard superintendent at the beginning of his administration. He was an officer with an international reputation for technological innovation in naval gunnery and for deft management, and Lincoln had come to depend on him for advice in such matters and naval and military affairs in general. Finally in June he had reluctantly agreed to release now Rear Admiral Dahlgren to command the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron off Charleston.

When Sharpe stepped out of his door that morning to walk across the square to the White House, he was surprised to be greeted by a familiar voice from the carriage parked outside. He looked up to see a stovepipe hat nodding down at him. “Good morning, Sharpe. Jump in.” It was not every day that a President picked up a colonel. “If you were expecting us to wait on ceremony, my apologies, but we need an early start thing morning.”

As they drove away, Lincoln said, “I thought your stay in Washington might be put to good use by broadening your horizons. The Navy Yard is just such a place. It is the most fun I have. I feel like a little boy who has escaped from some evil chore whenever I can sneak away from the White House. That reminds me.”

By the time they were riding through the Navy Yard gate Lincoln had finished his fourth story, and Sharpe was laughing. Only later would he consider how much of his policy Lincoln had passed to him through his wit. He only regained his composure after they had passed the smoking cannon foundries and stopped near the towering and cavernous wooden dry dock into which the seven hundred-ton Margaret and Jesse was being drawn. Gus Fox had driven straight to the Yard after leaving the White House to put things in motion. The skilled workers and masters of the Yard were paid overtime to work through the night. But the ship was a trim and graceful thing at seven hundred tons and slipped easily into the dry dock.

Sharpe and Lincoln saw Gus Fox and young Lamson standing nearby, watching the ship’s progress. It was a grand sight, Sharpe thought. He could tell the President was enjoying himself as much as a boy in a toy shop watching the latest windup gadget. When Fox and Lamson saw the President, they hurried over to pay their respects. “Good to see you boys at work so early. So, Gus, what are you planning to do to this leviathan?”

She did look a bit petite in the dry dock meant for a ship at least four times her size. “If you don’t mind, sir, I’ll let the ship’s new captain explain,” Fox said, turning the floor over to Lamson.

The young man was not shy at all but rather bursting with such enthusiasm that he was eager to share his delight in his new command. “Sir, the first thing we are going to do is inspect her engines and weight-bearing structures, then reinforce the decks and ribbing to take the guns. We decided on three Dahlgren XI-inch guns per side and a seventh as the forward pivot gun. We’ll round it out with an 8-inch Dahlgren rifle on the aft pivot.”

Lincoln whistled softly. “That’s a huge weight of metal. Are you sure she can bear it?”

“Yes, sir. The Yard shipwrights have been all over her, and she is a remarkably strong ship. We are reinforcing her decks and hull with more iron bracing just to make sure. I’ve never had such firepower on the Nansemond, sir. These XI-inchers have an enormous advantage over British armament. Why, one XI-inch shell has more destructive power than three 32-pounder shot, even if they all hit close together. And it does twice the damage of two 8-inch shells with even more explosive power. It also means that I can fight the ship with fewer men.² I won’t mind getting into a fight with these guns on the Margaret and Jesse.”

“Now that name, Margaret and Jesse is an awkward mouthful and none too martial either. This ship needs a new name, an American name,” Lincoln suggested.

Everyone paused in thought, until Sharpe said simply, “Gettysburg. Let her be named after Gettysburg.”

Lincoln slapped Sharpe on the shoulder. “Capital idea! USS Gettysburg, it is!” Fox and Lamson took a minute to digest that their prize would be named after the Army’s greatest battle. But with the President having pronounced, they accepted Sharpe’s fait accompli gracefully.

Lincoln turned to Fox, “Gus, I haven’t heard much about the new shallow-draft monitors from the Navy Department. How are they doing? I’ve heard rumors that Stimers is having problems. Does this mean another delay?”

Alban Crocker Stimers was Fox’s protégé and project manager for this ambitious twenty-ship Casco class of follow-on monitors to the Passaic class. They were designed for operations in the shallow coastal waters and harbors where the Navy was doing most of its fighting. Immense resources in materials and skilled labor had been devoted to the project. These resources were tight and much was expected of Stimers, who had successfully pushed the Passaic class, also based on Ericsson’s design, to completion. The shallow-draft monitors were also originally an Ericsson design, but other priorities had pushed the genius Swedish designer on to new projects, leaving the project completely in Stimers’s control.

Unfortunately, Stimers had been trying to outdesign Ericsson, and the scale and complexity of ambitious redesigns had overwhelmed the project. It had experienced delay after delay, and this had come to Lincoln’s attention. Fox himself had begun to worry, but every inquiry had drawn the same responses from Stimers-that the ships would meet the new deadlines and that Ericsson had fully approved the changes. Fox was unaware that Stimers had merely assured Ericsson that things were under control. Welles was also on his back, suspicious of Stimers, whom he described as “intoxicated, overloaded with vanity,” and “more weak than wicked.” Making things even worse, the larger Tippecanoe class was also late. Before Fox could answer, Lincoln said, “Gus, I think it would be a good idea to take a good look yourself.”

Lincoln began to walk along the length of the dry dock to take a better look at the ship. Lamson followed. Sharpe and a chagrined Fox stayed behind. Fox looked after Lincoln as he walked along the dry dock. “He loves anything mechanical, you know. He has a surprisingly good nose for what works and doesn’t.” Fox said. “And if it weren’t for him, I don’t know how I could have blown the cobwebs out of the Navy Department’s old-fashioned bureaus. My God, they would still be happy to be accounting for every cannonball fired in the War of 1812 if we hadn’t shaken them up enough to make the teeth rattle. Luckily, Dahlgren left the Yard in superb shape and gave us a model to bludgeon the rest of the departments with. We’d be in desperate shape if it were not for Dahlgren and the guns he’s developed over the years. I tell you, the British are jealous of his guns.”

Sharpe said, “Captain Hancock thinks not.”

“Hancock? How do you know Hancock?”

“We had dinner last night at the Ebbitt Grill. He arrived late. I had just taken the last table, and invited Hancock and his guest to join me. It was a very interesting evening.”

“The hell you say. That Limey bastard is like a Mississippi catfish-a magnificent bottom feeder. He sucks up every bit of information he can about the Navy and especially our monitors. So, tell me what he had to say.”

Fox listened intently to Sharpe’s recounting of the evening’s conversation and said, “Dwarfed by the Warriors, did he say? Well, it’s lucky for HMS Warrior that she has not met USS Passaic. Let me tell you something, Sharpe, about the new naval warfare. A broadside ship like Warrior has to go to great effort to maneuver itself to fire on its opponent. The entire ship has to be positioned for the shot. A monitor’s revolving turret aims the guns in any direction regardless of the position of the ship. We can wrap a turret in 10 inches of good American steel while a broadside ironclad so far has rarely been able to mount more than 4.5 inches because that armor belt must run most of the length of the ship and form a casemate as on the Warrior and on our New Ironsides. The latter is the only such broadside ironclad that we built and that was in the initial competition for designs that included the Monitor. The fact that we have built no more broadside ironclads is a good indication of which we think is the more successful design. The monitors also have a low freeboard, making it difficult for a broadside ship to hit the hull at all. The broadside ship, on the other hand, is nothing but a big target.”

Both looked down the dry dock at the sound of laughter from a crowd. Lincoln stood in the middle of a hundred Yard workers and had them in stitches. Fox smiled, “The working people and the sailors love him. He’s not afraid to talk to them and what he says makes sense. Not only that, they know he cares for them.”

“Yes, the feeling among the troops is largely one of affection, despite the die-hard McClellan worshippers. A thousand stories of his kindnesses circulate throughout the Army. He talks to the men when he visits the Army, too. I’ve heard them laugh just like this.”

Fox added, “He’s just the same with the seamen of the fleet. The stories of him are legion. One I can vouch for. I got it from the chief of hospitals here in Washington. After Gettysburg, he insisted on visiting every hospital in the city and Alexandria, and they were overflowing with the wounded. Not just ours but rebels, too. He said he wanted to shake every man’s hand. The surgeon protested that there were thousands of men. Lincoln said to point the way, and so help me, the surgeon stated flatly he shook every hand, even visited the rebels. Afterward, to get the feeling back in his hand he chopped a small pile of cordwood outside one hospital ward. The orderly picked up every single chip to keep as a souvenir. Now, here’s the truly remarkable thing. The surgeon swore that after he was done, Lincoln raised the ax straight out by the end of the haft and balanced it there for the longest time. His arm did not shake a bit. Never saw anything so remarkable.”

They could see Lincoln tip his hat and move back down the dry dock toward them.

“Gus, I think I will take the good captain of the Gettysburg away from you for a few hours. I want him and the good colonel to see someone.”

BRITISH EMBASSY, WASHINGTON, D.C., 11:00 AM, AUGUST 7, 1863

Hancock walked with Wolseley through the embassy’s valiant attempt at a rose garden. He plucked a fungus-ruined bud and waved it at the one-eyed man. “Dreadful climate. We are rated a tropical post, you know? Such a country for weeds and blights. Makes you pine for the rose gardens of England. Well, the climate and blights seem to match these rude people, I must say. Perhaps it is what draws the Irish.”

Wolseley had zero interest in roses or gardens. “I’m used to it after Burma and India. I prefer the cool Canadian summers, though, but I tell you I would much rather be campaigning in an Indian summer than bored to tears in cool Canada.”

Hancock tossed the bud away and brushed his hands off. “I take it your opinion of the Yankees has changed since your last visit.”

“Well, they are not a lovable people, to be sure. I like the Southerners, I must admit, though not enough to care about their Confederacy for itself. The source, indeed, of most of my good wishes arise from my dislike of the people of the United States, taking them generally, and my delight at seeing their swagger and bunkum rudely kicked out of them.”⁶

“What did you think of our simple colonel of infantry at dinner last night, Wosleley? Damned well-informed if you ask me.”

Wolseley had also been thinking about last night’s dinner companion. “Did you notice, Hancock, that he did not let slip anything of importance? His account of the battle did nothing but add to the impression that their Army has put itself in good order. Did you also notice that when you had delivered your talking points, his questions put a finger on critical points of imperial policy toward the United States.”

“Well, I must admit, it was as if I had been speaking to Mr. Fox at their Navy Department or Mr. Dana at their War Department. His question about their monitors was too close to the bone.” Hancock may have been outclassed by Sharpe, but he knew his business.

“The Navy does not like to publicly admit that we are worried about the American monitors. Yes, we have Warrior and Black Prince and the two smaller 6,000-ton broadside ironclads Defence and Resistance, but the Americans already have eight of their Passaic class monitors, with more building, and two large broadside ironclads similar to our Defence class. Their building program is enormous at every major port on the East Coast and on the Ohio River as well. They have twenty hulls of a powerful shallow-draft monitor, the Casco class, which should be completed this autumn. There is a Canonicus class monitor with seven ships, and a Milwaukee class with five ships, all due next year. The point is that the Americans do not have to have an open-ocean Navy; their mission will be to defend the ports, waterways, and coasts, and their smaller size and shallower drafts will be ideal for these waters.

“And what is abuilding in England? Three ships of the Prince Consort class and three more of the Royal Oak and Hector classes. All of them are broadside ironclads. None of them are the low-silhouette, turreted monitor types. And the Royal Oak is just a converted wooden ship with iron armor. We have only two turret ironclads building now, Royal Sovereign and Prince Albert. Do you realize the Americans have 10 inches of good armor on those turrets? All of our ships have armor belts only of 3 to 4.5 inches. We have learned from our Confederate contacts and from the American press that in the battles in Charleston Harbor, the turrets have been well nigh invulnerable.”

This was all news to Wolseley. The British services had had an excellent record of cooperation compared to any other country, but knowledge of the other service was not something an officer concerned himself with. “You don’t mean the Americans have the advantage over the Royal Navy?”

“It is not as simple as that. Our purpose-built wooden and iron-hulled ships outnumber and outclass most of their American counterparts. We would have no trouble sweeping the American Navy from the seas. But, you must understand, that in a war with the Americans we cannot simply control the seas in order to win. They could easily be self-sufficient. No, we would need to break the blockade of the Southern ports and then go after them in their own harbors. And there is where we found these swarms of turreted monitors armed with Admiral Dahlgren’s fearsome XV-inch guns.”

“I seem to recall that the Dahlgren guns on the Monitor failed to breach the armor of the broadside ironclad Virginia,” Wolseley said.

“True, but the Monitor carried only Dahlgren’s XI-inch guns, not the XV-inch guns being fitted now on every new ship. The monitors at Charleston now each have one of their two guns a XV-inch. Moreover, at Hampton Roads, the Monitor only used 50 percent of the proof charge, meaning the maximum powder charge the guns were rated as being able to take. According to our sources, that deficiency has been corrected. In combat the Americans will use nearly 100 percent of the proof charge. American tests on armor similar to the Virginia’s found that not only the XV- but the XI-inch projectiles would go right through her plate.”

Hancock led him into the shade of the garden pergola and motioned him to the bench. “Damned tricky equation a war with the Americans, trickier than they think back home. I wonder if anyone in London reads my reports.”

Wolseley was trying to sort out the implications of Hancock’s review. “I understood that we were absolutely convinced during the Trent Affair that we could have crushed the Americans. Have the monitors upset that assumption so completely?”

“You must remember that in December 1861, the Americans had just embarked on this ruinous war. Their Navy was small-barely ninety ships, or one-tenth the size of the Royal Navy. Their admittedly fine harbor forts were in many cases unmanned and ungunned. We would have crushed them in one blow, I believe.

“But with the declaration of the blockade, the American Navy began to grow like Jack’s magic beans. In four months, they had doubled the number of ships; in ten months they had grown sixfold. Mr. Welles was quoted, in speaking of one of the new ships rushed to completion, that its keel had been growing in a forest three months ago. Many of these new ships were gunboats or were converted merchantmen, but the point is that they did the job. Moreover, their crews have learned their jobs. The Americans have always been good sailors and when given even odds have embarrassed the Royal Navy too many times for me to consider-not at all like fighting the French. It is the American ability to organize and produce that worries me, Wolseley.”

It occurred to Wolseley that the Army had had a similar experience with this American talent. During the Crimean War, when the production of the new Enfield rifled musket could not meet the war demand, the British Army had to swallow its pride and send an ordnance delegation to the United States. They toured the War Department’s Springfield Arsenal and observed the “American method” of mass production. The Army immediately put in an order for comparable American-made machinery to completely reequip the Royal Small Arms Factory at Enfield. They also hired an American to manage the factory. The Royal Small Arms Factory had been transformed by its American additions into the pride of British manufacturing. The production of the superb Enfield rifle was more than sufficient to completely equip the British Army and its territorial forces as well as sell hundreds of thousands to both the Confederacy and the Union before the latter’s production increase by this time made imports unnecessary.⁹

“There’s more, Wolseley. Are you aware that Adm. Sir Alexander Milne developed a war plan against the United States during the Trent Affair? He proposed to break the Union blockade at two points. Charleston, of course, would be the main effort, with a secondary effort to open a port such as Galveston, Texas. He also proposed to counterblockade the ports of the North and to sail up the Chesapeake Bay and attack Washington itself. At that time, we could have easily done it. I understand Admiral Milne says that today he would find such a plan most risky.”

“But, Hancock, given the neutrality of Her Majesty’s government, the risk of war seems highly unlikely, does it not?”

“Not as unlikely as you think. London does not understand the deep anger the North feels toward Great Britain. British commerce keeps the Confederacy alive through our blockade-runners. Our Foreign Enlistment Act is so flimsy that British shipyards have produced a squadron of commerce raiders that is ruining the American merchant navy and whaling fleet with disastrous effects in the ports and businesses of the North. The press feeds the public’s anger. Too many Americans already feel that we are secretly at war with them now. Adding constant insult to injury is our open partiality for the South. Such articles as yours in Blackwood’s, I must say, Wolseley, are exactly what feeds anti-British sentiment. I cannot count the number of Americans of consequence who have angrily asked me to explain the advocacy of Her Majesty’s Assistant Quartermaster General of Canada for British alliance with the Confederacy.”

Before Wolseley had time to come to his own defense, Hancock exclaimed, “It’s frightfully hot even here in the shade. Let’s go indoors. Besides, I have something to show you that may be of interest.”

4½ STREET, S.E., WASHINGTON, D.C., 11:15 PM, AUGUST 7, 1863

The carriage had only a few blocks to go as it trundled out of the Navy Yard gate. Lincoln explained that the object of their visit was a gallant young soldier-Col. Ulric Dahlgren, son of the admiral, who was recuperating at his father’s home. Ulric had lost his leg while pursuing Lee after Gettysburg. Sharpe looked forward to the visit. Young Dahlgren and he had been appointed on the same order to Hooker’s headquarters. It was a small headquarters, and the two were easily drawn to each other. Captain Dahlgren had been a twenty-one-year-old, handsome, lithe, blond beau sabreur, with a taste for daring forays into the enemy, and Sharpe had been the homely looking colonel with a master’s touch for intelligence. It was this relationship that had led to the incredible raid that captured Jeff Davis’s dispatches to Lee on July 2 at Gettysburg. Sergeant Cline had brought the information of the courier’s route and timing, and Sharpe had organized the raid with Dahlgren in command. It had been the stuff of legend as Dahlgren led his band of fifteen men into a surprise attack on the courier escort and a passing Confederate wagon train in the middle of Greencastle. It was Cline who had seized the couriers with a cocked pistol at their heads. Dahlgren immediately rode the thirty miles for Meade’s headquarters at Gettysburg and arrived at midnight to put the dispatches into Meade’s hands. They were wired to Washington the next day; their content exposed the strategic weakness of the Confederacy in detail. Meade asked Dahlgren how he could reward him, and the young man said to give him a hundred men and send him out again. He had his wish. As he harried Lee’s rear as it crossed the mountains, a bullet had shattered his foot. The wound went bad, and the leg below the knee had to be taken off.

A look of sadness came across Lincoln’s face. “I wanted you both to meet Ulric; in the two years that I have known his father, the boy had become almost like one of my own sons. It distressed me deeply to see the best this country has maimed.”

Sharpe knew that Ulric’s first visitor had been the President, who sat for hours by his bedside as the young man hovered near death. “Sir, Colonel Dahlgren and I are old friends. The staff of the Army of the Potomac is a small family, and we joined it at the same time last year. He is very much liked and very much missed.”

Pleased, Lincoln said, “He seemed to have taken the operation in stride, but he went quickly into such a decline that we thought we would lose him. When Secretary Stanton had come to present him with his commission to colonel, the boy was too sick to even recognize him. Stanton then closed the street to wheeled traffic so as not to disturb his rest. He posted that guard,” Lincoln pointed to the soldier lounging by the door of a small house, “to refuse admittance to anyone but doctors.” The soldier saw the carriage and grew bug eyed as he recognized the tall man in the stovepipe hat getting out of the carriage. He immediately presented arms.

A maid answered, curtsied, showed them to the parlor, and disappeared. Moments later an elderly gentleman, obviously not in the best of health, came in. Lincoln presented Mr. Lawrence, Ulric’s uncle who had come from Connecticut to supervise his care. “How is our boy today?” Lincoln asked.

“Ever so much better, Mr. President. He will be delighted to have company. He is itching to get out of that bed and try that cork leg you had made for him, but I fear he has many weeks more to go.”

A clear, strong tenor voice called down from the upstairs. “Uncle, do we have visitors?”

Sharpe saw Lincoln’s face brighten as he walked into the hallway and looked up the stairs. Ulric was standing at the top of the landing, teetering on a pair of crutches. His uncle hurried over, clearly distressed. “Ulie, you must stay in bed. The doctors said you are not ready to try the crutches.”

“Let the brave lad be, Mr. Lawrence. It is his nature.” Then glancing at Sharpe, he said, “My boy Willie would have been like him.” A look of grief passed over his face. “Stay there, my boy. We’ll come up to see you.” He took the steps three at a time to throw his long arms around Dahlgren. Sharpe noticed Dahlgren’s look of delight when he recognized Lincoln. This was a mutual affection.

When Sharpe and Lamson reached the top of the stairs, Lincoln had helped Dahlgren to a chair in the small upstairs sitting room and pulled another up close. Dahlgren recognized Sharpe and tried to rise, “Colonel Sharpe, what a surprise!” He reached out his hand, and Sharpe grasped it. Ulric’s handshake was as firm as ever.

“Well, Colonel Dahlgren,” he said emphasizing the rank, “I’m glad to see you doing so well. We were worried about you. I will have to tell everyone that the bold twinkle has not left your eyes.” He was telling the truth. Dahlgren was thinner than he remembered; his brush with death had shrunk some of the flesh from his already thin body. He had been a splendid horseman and reputedly the best dancer in Washington. The girls would miss him on the dance floor. But he had lost none of the spirit Sharpe remembered. His fine fair hair was neatly cut and combed, his face shaved, and his small goatee trimmed.

Lincoln introduced Lamson, and while the two were talking, he said in a low voice to Sharpe, “I like to put my thoroughbreds in the same pasture on occasion. It convinces each to run a bit faster.” Sharpe could see what Lincoln meant. One fair and one dark, the two were deep in conversation. They had instantly recognized the same thing in each other. Lincoln interrupted to say, “I’ll wager you two have no idea what you have in common.” They looked at him. “Why, it’s Gettysburg! Dahlgren covered himself with glory there, and I’ve just named Lamson’s new ship after that battle, at the suggestion, I might add, of Colonel Sharpe.”

Lincoln went on to describe Lamson’s mission to intercept the Laird rams, drawing a parallel between Dahlgren and the dispatches and Lamson and the rams. Both required both boldness and brains. He remarked on the importance of luck, though to him the luckiest men were the best prepared. “That reminds me of story about Napoleon. Whenever a man was recommended for promotion, he would always ask, ‘But is he lucky?’ Seems the little Corsican knew what he was talking about, at least some of the time.”

UNITED STATES BOTANICAL GARDEN, MARYLAND AVENUE, WASHINGTON, D.C., 12:30 PM, AUGUST 7, 1863

After dropping Lamson back at the Yard, Lincoln and Sharpe went to the Conservatory, a great glass botanical garden at the base of Capitol Hill on Maryland Avenue. As they walked through the gorgeous plant-filled corridors, each with a different grouping of the most exotic plants and flowers, Lincoln found a bench and motioned for Sharpe to sit. “Sometimes a soul just needs to rest, Colonel. Can you think of a better place?”

“No, sir, there’s nothing else like it in this country. Kew Gardens in London is even larger, and the French have wondrous gardens, too, but give us time.”

“Yes, dear God, give us time. That is what I am about. To give this country time. Every day I do my best to make sure that we have time for all that the future has in store for us. This war cannot be our end of times. We are a new start, proof that man’s history is not confined to an endless rut of tyranny and misery.

“And I come here because my boys loved to play here. I’m afraid they were a trial to the conservators, racing around and plucking their choicest flowers. I had not the heart to stop them. Mary always said I was too indulgent. Now my Willie is gone.” His ungainly body slumped in the iron bench as he put his face in his hands and wept.

Sharpe’s heart went out to this man who with all the weight of the world on his shoulders suffered that indescribable grief. Lincoln said, “We have words for those who have lost parents and a husband or wife, but we do not have a word for those who have lost a child. There is just no word capable of such a meaning.”

He paused and looked at Sharpe. “Is there a word for a people who have let their country die or, worse, helped kill it?”

“Copperhead.”

“Yes, Sharpe, that is why I keep you in Washington. I can feel a great underground seething in the North, as if this fanged and perverse serpent is uncoiling itself, feeling its strength, readying itself to strike. At least the South is honest in its rebellion-man to man in the open field-but these Copperheads cover themselves with the Constitution while they seek to destroy it. They are abetted by the radical civil libertarians who insist on making the government too weak to defend itself. Thank God Carrington is doing such a good job keeping a finger on their pulse. His man, Stidger, has been a godsend. I truly fear that we would be in far greater danger without his intimate intelligence of their activities.”

He paused to reach out and run his long fingers gently over the flowers of a clematis vine. “I know how much you contributed to the victory at Gettysburg, Sharpe. It is not your fault that more was not made of it. I have been thinking that we may need your talents in organization for a secret service here. I’m not talking of what Mr. Baker is doing in chasing spies, but something larger and more comprehensive that gathers together all of the strands of what we must know about not just the rebels but about all of our enemies.

“I’m almost as worried about Louis Napoleon and his ambitions in Mexico as I am about the British and their rams. He conducts his foreign policy simply as a means to strengthen his hold on power in France. As a monarch he feels no affection for our experiment in government by the people. As a monarch of the French, he must consider the affection of the French people for the United States and their decided dislike of slavery. Now he’s got himself stuck in Mexico. He thinks that if the South wins, the Monroe Doctrine will be a dead letter, and he will be allowed to keep what he has stolen. He doesn’t know our Southron countrymen,” he said mimicking the Confederate transformation of the word “Southern.” He went on. “It would not take them long to cast covetous eyes on Mexico. But what he thinks is more important than what is. If we win, he knows that we will not let him keep his Mexican Empire. On his own, he will do nothing.

“Adams in London and Drayton in Paris have kept us informed of his attempts to organize the great powers to force an end to our war on terms that would ensure Southern independence. Last year the Russians turned him down, and the British were not eager to be led in anything by the French. So he waits. Mr. Drayton pointedly asked the French foreign minister, Drouyn de Lhuys, what the Emperor’s current policy was toward the United States. The Frenchman must have been at his wit’s end to actually blurt out the truth. ‘He has none. He awaits events.’

“I’m just afraid that in order to keep his Mexican spoils, Louis will get in deeper than he can handle. That reminds me of a story. In early days, a party of men went out hunting for a wild boar. But the game came upon them unawares, and scampering away they all climbed the trees save one, who, seizing the animal by the ears, undertook to hold him, but despairing of success cried out to his companions in the trees, ‘For God’s sake, boys, come down and help me let go.’ So far John Bull and the Czar are still up in those trees.”¹⁶

Sharpe smiled. “Mr. President, the French are eminently an idealistic people. They will fight more for ideas than interests, and if the Emperor can convince them that France has been grossly insulted by an affront to French glory-glory simply does not translate fully into that concept the French feel for themselves as expressed by their word ‘gloire’-if he can tie Mexico to gloire, then the leash on his action is slipped. But I don’t think he will act without Britain, and Britain will not be pushed into it.”

Lincoln leaned forward intently, “Exactly why I told you of our plan to stop the Laird rams from getting out to sea. I have taken you into my confidence on this matter, Sharpe, because we may well have need of the sort of intelligence on the great powers that you have been putting together about the rebels.”

He leaned back on the bench, one arm draped over the back. “The job is yours, Sharpe. You will report to me alone. I will have a chat with Seward, Stanton, and Welles to make sure they realize that you will not be stepping on any toes.”

“Mr. President, I am truly honored,” Sharpe said. Yet he hesitated at the enormity of the offer. Although seconded to Meade’s staff, he was still the official commander of the 120th NY and took a deep concern in the welfare of the regiment. Every month the men gave him their pay. He traveled to Washington to deposit it in the Rigg’s Bank and sent a check to his uncle’s bank in Kingston. His uncle then paid the money out to the families of the soldiers. It was the only regiment in the Army that had such an efficient way to care for the families of the men. It was a small consideration compared to the power of the position he was offered, but these men were his neighbors. To come to Washington, he would have to resign his commission and abandon his men. He explained his concern.

Lincoln, rather than seeing an obstruction, was moved by Sharpe’s concern for his men. “I’ll tell you what, Sharpe. You will not need to resign. I would prefer you kept your commission, and I will see about getting your Kingston boys duty in the garrison of Washington. Some of these big artillery regiments are getting fat in the forts here and could use some exercise with the Army in the field.” He offered his hand. “Deal?”

Sharpe took it. “Deal.”

BRITISH EMBASSY, WASHINGTON, D.C., 1:10 PM, AUGUST 7, 1863

Captain Hancock shut the door to his office as he motioned Wolseley to a seat. He opened the safe in the corner and drew out some papers that he handed his guest. “The assistant quartermaster general of Canada should find this most interesting. We have a prolific source in the American War Department who copied this for us.”

Wolseley’s single eye raced across the pages. It was a letter from the governor of Maine, Israel Washburn, to Lincoln and dated October 1861. He realized it was a very important document and nothing less than a shrewd and insightful assessment of the strategic importance of Maine and an appeal for resources to properly defend the state.Portland should be made the great naval depot of the United States on the Atlantic Ocean. Its geographical position commands Canada on the north and the lower provinces on the east, if properly fortified, as lines of railway… radiate from it to Quebec and Montreal and to Saint John and Halifax.The harbor is one of the finest on the Atlantic Ocean, or in the world, and can easily be so fortified as to be as impregnable as Gibraltar, and far stronger than Quebec, Sebastopol, or Cherbourg.Halifax Harbor, the great British naval depot on the American continent, is now occupied by the combined fleets of England and France. Close the outlet of the great gulf lying between Cape Cod and Cape Sable, and unless Portland is defended the whole peninsula east of Lake Champlain is easily subjected to foreign control.If Great Britain held the harbor of Portland and the line of railway to Montreal and Quebec she would drive American commerce from the ocean and the great lakes.

Wolseley glanced up and shook his head. Hancock said, “I thought you would be impressed. But do read on.”An enemy in possession of Portland would find it to be the terminus of the longest line of railroad in the world. The Grand Trunk Railway of Canada embraces a line of 1,131 miles… It extends from the Atlantic Ocean at Portland to Lake Huron, a distance of 794 miles, with a branch to Detroit of 59 miles, a branch to Quebec of 96 miles, and to the River du Loup of 118 miles.

Wolseley’s eye bulged at the next sentence. “This line has the capacity to move 10,000 troops between Portland and Quebec or Toronto and Detroit in a single day.” It went on to describe the European and North American Railway, which from its Portland terminus ran through Bangor and Saint John to Halifax over a distance of 576 miles.Without it the complete defense of our coast would be impossible, for the British fleet, holding command of the ocean, would prevent any attack on the lower provinces by water. Holding Halifax, the line to Quebec by the Saint John Valley would be kept open, and an overwhelming force would be thrown into New Brunswick, Canada, or Maine at any moment.

Wolseley looked up, “And do you know if the Americans have taken any of this excellent advice to properly fortify Maine? My office has only the most superficial information on these matters. This, of course, is the purpose of my visit.”

Hancock responded, “None of the coastal forts in Maine were completed when this war began. There was a flurry of activity initially, but not much substantial improvement. Maine is far away from the fighting. None of the forts have their full complement of guns, and what they have are not all of modern types. There are three forts in Maine of any importance.” He brought out a map. “See, the northernmost, Fort Popham, guards the Kennebec River, and the other two, Forts Gorges and Preble, guard the entrance to Portland Harbor. As far as we can ascertain, the garrisons are home guards, frequently rotated.”

Wolseley stood up and began to pace up and down the office. “Hancock, when the Trent Affair nearly brought us to war, the government decided to reinforce our weak garrison in Canada with more than ten thousand men. They were sent over late in the year through dreadful weather. They had to travel by sled up the snow-covered trails paralleling the St. Lawrence and from there scatter to a dozen garrisons. It would be impossible to repeat this in wartime. We have eighteen thousand men in Canada now and a growing colonial defense force, but I’m afraid that any American attack would be with numbers that would overwhelm us, and Maine would be the logical starting place. It is the normal port of entry for much of Canada’s commerce, and as Governor Washburn has so carefully pointed out, railroads radiate from Portland throughout Canada. Invasion armies could ride the rails and splinter our defenses so rapidly that we would be unable to mass sufficient forces anywhere to successfully defend anything.”

Hancock nodded. “I’ll have a copy of this sent you in the pouch; wouldn’t do for some officious customs officer to find it on you. I think I will inquire into this Colonel Sharpe as well.”

Wolseley stopped his pacing and fixed his eye on Hancock. “Railroads can run in two directions, you know, Hancock.”