Stars and Stripes Triumphant

A COUNTRY DIVIDED

It was a time for confusion, a time for control. The peoples of Great Britain were stunned into inaction by the sudden, earthshaking events, and they appeared to be unable to quite grasp the overwhelming tragedy that had befallen them. Superficially, after two days of uncertainty and near riots, life continued in what appeared to be a normal way. People must eat — so the farmers brought their produce to market. Shops and businesses reopened. The local constables, in a great part of the land, remained at their posts, symbols of law and order. Only in the larger cities was there disconcerting evidence that the world had indeed turned upside down. Blue-clad soldiers patrolled the streets, armed and ready for any exigency. They were there in all of the major train stations, billeted in the police barracks and in hotels, or in rows of neat bell tents in the city parks. At Aldershot and Woolwich, and other army camps, the regular troops were confined to barracks and disarmed, the volunteers and the yeomanry disbanded and sent home.

Cornwall and Plymouth were already occupied and more reinforcements were landed there. Trainloads of troops then went west and north and quietly took over Wales and the northern shires. Only Scotland remained undisturbed — although cut off from all communication with the south. The telegraph wires were down and the trains did not run. Scottish troops remained in their barracks for want of any instructions, while rumors were rife. The English newspapers did not arrive, while the Scottish ones, with access to valid information, had more wild speculation than news.

Martial law had been declared in the land and the national newspapers were the first victims. American officers were now sitting quietly in every editorial office and reading each day’s issues with great interest. There was no attempt at editorial censorship — the papers were allowed to print whatever they saw fit. However, if the Americans felt that editorial material was inaccurate, or might tempt the populace to riot, or in any way might affect the new peace, why then, the printed newspapers were simply not distributed. Within a few days the clear message sank home and a blandness and aura of harmony emanated from all their pages.

“You are sure that you are not going too far with this censorship, Gus?” General Sherman asked, slowly turning the pages of The Times. He had summoned Gustavus Fox to his office in Buckingham Palace. Fox smiled as he shook his head.

“When war walks in the door, truth flies out the window,” Fox said. “You will remember that President Lincoln closed down the strident, dissenting Northern newspapers during the War Between the States. I think that we can be a little more sophisticated now. People will believe what they read in the newspapers. If the populace of Britain reads only about peace and prosperity — and sees no evidence for them to think differently — why then, there will be peace in the land. But rest assured, General, this is only a temporary measure. I am sure that you prefer to operate now in an aura of numbed peace rather than one of disorganization and unrest while your — what shall we call them? — pacification measures go into effect.”

“True, very true,” Sherman said, rubbing at his beard as he cudgeled his thoughts. Winning the peace was proving to be more difficult than winning the war had been. He had to rely more and more on civil servants and clerks — even politicians — to organize the peaceful occupation of the country. Thank God that martial law was still in place. He accepted advice, even asked for it, but when it came time for firm decisions, he was the final authority.

“Well — let us put the matter aside for the moment. I sent for you because I’ve had a delegation cooling their heels in a waiting room for most of the morning. I wanted you here when I let them in. I have had a communication from President Lincoln.” He held up the letter. “He congratulates us on our victory, and expresses great pride in the armed forces. I’m having this read out to every soldier and sailor who contributed to that victory. Put it into the newspapers, too — if they will print it. He also includes a letter to the British people, and the papers will certainly print that. But first I would like you to read it to these politicos. See what they have to say about it.”

“That will be my pleasure, General.” Fox took the letter and went through it quickly. “Wonderful. This is just what everyone wants to hear.”

“Good. We’ll have them in.”

The Prime Minister, Lord John Russell, led the delegation; Sherman remembered him from the encounter with the Queen. He introduced the others, mostly members of his cabinet. The only one to make a positive impression on Sherman was Benjamin Disraeli, the leader of the opposition in Parliament. His lean, spare figure was dressed in the most finely cut clothes; there were impressive rings upon his fingers.

“There are chairs for all,” Sherman said. “Please be seated.”

“General Sherman,” Lord Russell said, “we are here as representatives of Her Majesty’s government and, as such, have to present certain grievances…”

“Which I will hear in due course. But first I have here a communication from Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States. Which will be read to you by Mr. Fox, the Assistant Secretary of the Navy. Mr. Fox.”

“Thank you.” Fox looked at the angry faces before him, the puckered brows. Only Disraeli seemed at ease, intent.

“This is addressed to the people of Great Britain. As their elected representatives it is only right that you hear it first. Mr. Lincoln writes, ‘To all of the peoples of the British Isles. A great war has now been brought to a conclusion. Years of strife between our countries are at an end. Peace has now been declared, and it is my heartfelt wish that it be a long and successful one. To this end I must assure you that we wish to be friends to you all.

“ ‘As I write this, I am told that a delegation is now being assembled here in Washington City and that they will very soon join you in London. Their task will be to meet with your leaders to see that the rule of democracy is restored to Britain as soon as it is possible. We extend this hand of friendship with the best of goodwill. It is our fond hope that you will seize it for the sake of our mutual prosperity.’ It is signed Abraham Lincoln.”

The British politicians were silent for a moment as they thought about the import of the statement. Only Disraeli understood it at once; he smiled slightly and pursed his lips over his steepled hands.

“Mr. Fox, General Sherman, might I ask a small question, a matter of clarification?” Sherman nodded. “Thank you. All present agree with your president, for we all favor democracy. In fact, we enjoy it now under the benevolent rule of Queen Victoria. Why is there no mention of the monarchy in this letter? Is this omission deliberate?”

“You will have to judge that for yourselves,” Sherman said abruptly, not wanting to become involved in wrangling at this time. “You must discuss that with the delegation which will be arriving tomorrow.”

“I protest!” Lord Russell said, filled with sudden anger. “You cannot trample over our way of life, our traditions…”

“Your protest is noted,” Sherman said coldly.

“You preach democracy,” Disraeli said calmly. “Yet you rule by force of arms. You occupy this palace, while the Queen is banished to the Isle of Wight. The doors of our parliament are locked. Is that democracy?”

“That is exigency,” Fox said. “Might I remind Mr. Disraeli that it was his country that originally invaded ours. The war that you started has now ended. Our forces will not stay in this country one day longer than is needed. What Mr. Lincoln wrote seems very clear. With democracy established in Britain, we will welcome you as a partner in peace. I hope that you agree.”

“We certainly do not—” Lord Russell said, but General Sherman interrupted him.

“That is enough for today. Thank you for coming.”

There were spluttered complaints from the politicians, and only Disraeli reacted calmly. He bowed slightly toward Sherman, turned, and left. As soon as they were gone, Sherman’s head of staff, Colonel Summers, brought in a stack of paperwork needing his urgent attention.

“Any of these important, Andy?” Sherman asked, gazing unhappily at the thick mound.

“All of them, General,” Colonel Summers said. “But some are more important than others.” He drew out a sheet of paper. “General Lee reports that all enemy activity has ceased in the Midlands. Morale is high — but food is running short, not only for his troops but for the freed Irish civilians as well.”

“Have you dealt with that?”

“Yes, sir. Contacted the Quartermaster Corps as soon as his telegram came in. The train with relief supplies should be leaving London now.”

“Well done. And this?” He held up the telegram that Summers had just handed him.

“It’s from our border guards stationed outside of Carlisle. It appears that they stopped a train, really just an engine and a single car, coming south from Scotland. Occupants were a General McGregor, who says that he is commanding officer of army forces in Scotland. There was also a politician, name of Campbell, says he is chairman of the Highland Council. I contacted the editorial department of the The Times and they confirmed the identification.”

“Get them here as soon as you can.”

“I thought that would be what you wanted. I had them, and an honor guard, sent south on a special train which will be on its way by now.”

“Well done. Any word from General Grant?”

“He reports the occupation of Southampton with no casualties. Had trouble with some of the fleet, but nothing to speak of. He should be arriving in London in about an hour.”

“I’ll want to see him as soon as he arrives. Anything else here of any importance?”

“Some orders to sign.”

“Let’s have them. The sooner that I am done with the paperwork, the better.”

A CONSTITUTIONAL CONGRESS

John Stuart Mill looked ill at ease. He shuffled through the sheaf of papers on the table before him, then squared the pile and pushed them away. The room was large and ornate, the walls hung thickly with the portraits of long-dead English kings. Outside the tall windows stretched the immaculately manicured gardens of Buckingham Palace. At the far end of the conference table General Sherman signed the last of the orders in the folder, closed it, then glanced up at the clock on the wall.

“Well — I see that our guests are not as prompt as might be expected,” he said. “But they will come, be assured of that.” He spoke lightly, hoping to alleviate the philosopher’s unease. Mill smiled wanly.

“Yes, of course, they must realize the importance of this meeting.”

“If they don’t — I count upon you to enlighten them.”

“I shall do my best, General, but you must realize that I am no man of action. I am more at home in my study than on the debating floor.”

“You underestimate your abilities, Mr. Mill. In Dublin you had the politicians eating out of your hand. When you spoke they were silent, intent on partaking of your wisdom. You will be fine.”

“Ah, yes — but that was Dublin.” Mill sounded distressed, and there was a fine beading of perspiration on his brow. “In Ireland I was telling them what they had spent their lifetimes waiting to hear. I showed them just how they could finally rule in their own land. They could not but be attentive.” Now Mill frowned unhappily at more recent memories. “However, my countrymen have taken great umbrage at my presence in Dublin. The Times went so far as to call me a traitor to my country and to my class. The other newspapers were — how shall I say it? — more than indignant, actually calling down curses upon my head…”

“My dear Mr. Mill,” Sherman said calmly. “Newspapers exist to sell copies, not to dispense the truth — or to see both sides of an argument. Some years ago, before I resumed my interrupted military career, I was, for a short while, a banker in California. When my bank fell upon hard times, there were calls to tar and feather me — or, preferably, burn me at the stake. Pay the papers no heed, sir. Their miasmic vaporings rise from the pit and will be dispersed by the clear winds of truth.”

“You are something of a poet, General,” Mill said, smiling weakly.

“Please don’t let anyone else know; let it be our secret.”

Colonel Summers knocked discreetly, then let himself in. “Finished with these, General?” he asked, pointing to the folder.

“All signed. Take care of them, Andy.”

“The two English gentlemen are here to see you, sir,” he said, picking up the papers.

“Show them in, by all means.”

When the door opened again John Stuart Mill was on his feet; General Sherman slowly joined him.

“Lord John Russell, Mr. Disraeli,” the colonel said, then quietly closed the door and left.

The two politicians crossed the room, as different in appearance as they could possibly be. The aristocratic Russell amply filling his old-fashioned broadcloth suit. Disraeli, the successful novelist, the veteran politician, the man about town, spare and thin and dressed in the most outstanding way. He stroked his small, pointed beard and nodded politely toward Sherman.

“Do you gentleman know Mr. John Stuart Mill?” Sherman asked.

“Only by reputation,” Disraeli said, bowing slightly toward Mill, his politician’s face empty of any expression.

“I have met Mr. Mill and have followed his public activities. I have no desire to be in his company,” Russell said in a cold voice, averting his eyes from the other man. Mill’s face was suddenly drawn and white.

“Mr. Russell — I would suggest that you be more courteous. We are here on a matter of some importance to both you and your country; therefore, your ill temper does you no favors, sir.” Sherman snapped the words out like a military command.

Russell flushed at the harshness of the words, the common form of address. He clamped his mouth shut and stared out of the window, resentful at being put down by this Yankee upstart. Sherman sat and waved the others to their chairs.

“Please be seated, gentlemen, and this meeting will begin.” He waited a moment, then went on. “I have asked you to come here in your official positions. As Prime Minister of the government and leader of the opposition. In those capacities I would like you to assemble a meeting of the House of Commons in Parliament.”

With an effort Lord Russell controlled his temper, and when he spoke his words were as cold and emotionless as he could manage. “Might I remind you, General, that the Houses of Parliament have been locked tight — upon your orders, sir.”

“They have indeed.” Sherman’s voice was as flat as the other man’s. “When the time comes the doors will be unlocked.”

“To both chambers?” Disraeli asked, his voice betraying no evidence of the singular importance of his question.

“No.” Sherman’s words now had the imperious force of command. “The House of Lords has been abolished and will not reconvene. There is no place for hereditary titles in a democracy.”

“By God, sir — you cannot!” Russell said vehemently.

“By God, sir — I can. You have lost your war and now you will pay the price.”

Disraeli coughed lightly in the ensuing silence, then spoke. “Might I ask — have all the arrangements been made for the Queen to open Parliament?” Again his voice held no hint of the immense purport of his question.

“She will not. The private citizen Victoria Saxe-Coburg will remain in her residence on the Isle of Wight for the time being. This is a new Britain, a freer Britain, and you gentlemen must learn to accommodate yourself to it.”

“This is still a constitutional Britain,” Russell broke in. “It is the Queen’s parliament and she must be there to open it. That is the law of the land.”

“Was,” General Sherman said. “I repeat. Your war has been lost and your country occupied. The Queen will not open Parliament.”

Disraeli nodded slowly. “I presume that there is a reason for calling this session of Parliament to sit.”

Sherman nodded. “There is indeed. Mr. Mill will be happy to enlighten you when he speaks to your assembly. Are there any further questions? No? Good. The Parliament will assemble in two days.”

“Impossible!” Lord Russell fought to control his voice without succeeding. “The members of Parliament are spread across this land, dispersed…”

“I envisage no problems. All of the telegraph lines are now open and the trains running as scheduled. There should be no difficulty in assembling these gentlemen.” Sherman rose to his feet. “I bid you good day.”

Russell stamped from the room, but Disraeli held back. “What do you hope to accomplish, General?”

“I? Why nothing at all, Mr. Disraeli. My work is complete. The war is over. It is Mr. Mill who will be speaking to you about the future.”

Disraeli turned to the philosopher and smiled. “In that case, sir, I ask you if you would be so kind as to join me? My carriage is outside, my London chambers close by. Any intelligence of what you plan to speak of would be gratefully received.”

“Most kind, sir.” Mill was unsure of himself. “You must know that people in these isles do not take kindly to my presence.”

“Why then, we shall ignore them, Mr. Mill. I have taken great pleasure, even inspiration, from your works, and would deem it a singular honor if you would accept my invitation.”

Sherman started to speak — then held his counsel. Mill would have to decide for himself in this matter.

“Most willingly, sir,” Mill said, drawing himself up. “It will be my great pleasure.”

Only after Mill and Disraeli had left did Colonel Summers bring General Sherman the message.

“This arrived a few minutes ago,” he said, handing over the envelope. “The messenger is still here awaiting an answer. He was worried about being seen speaking with us, so we put him in a room down the hall.”

“That’s very secretive.”

“With good reason — as you will see when you read the communication.”

Sherman nodded as he read the brief message. “This concerns the emissaries that just arrived from Scotland?”

“It does indeed. A General McGregor and a Mr. MacLaren of the Highland Council. A third man also traveled with them, but he did not reveal his name.”

“Getting more mysterious all the time. They want me to attend a meeting after dark at the home of a Scots nobleman. Do we know anything about him?”

“Just his name, the Earl of Eglinton, and the fact that he was a member of the House of Lords.”

“Isn’t this kind of thing more in Gus Fox’s line of work?”

“The messenger was insistent that he must talk to you first on an unofficial basis. I asked him what authority he had. It was then that, ever so reluctantly, he revealed the fact that he was Earl of Eglinton himself.”

“More and more interesting. Let’s have him in here.”

The Earl of Eglinton was tall and gray-haired, with a military bearing that was not reflected in his plain black suit. He did not speak until the soldier who had ushered him in had left.

“It is very good of you to see me, General.” He nodded at Summers. “I am sure that the colonel has told you of the need for secrecy.”

“He has — though not the reason for it.”

The Earl looked uncomfortable, and hesitated before he spoke. “This is — how shall I say it? — a most difficult matter. I would really like to postpone any discussion until after you have met my associates at my home. Mr. MacLaren is the one who will make a complete explanation. I am here as their host — and to explain their bona fides. Nevertheless, I can tell you that this is a matter of national importance.”

“Am I to assume,” Sherman asked, looking closely at the Earl, “that Scotland is somehow involved in this?”

“You have my word, sir, that it is. I have a carriage with a reliable driver who will be arriving soon. Will you be able to accompany me when I leave?”

“Perhaps. If I do go, my aide, Colonel Summers, will accompany me.”

“Yes, of course.”

Summers had been looking closely at the Scottish nobleman. “I have a single concern,” he said. “That is for General Sherman’s safety. He is, after all, commander in chief of our occupying forces.”

The Earl of Eglinton’s face grew pale. “You have my word that there is no danger or threat of danger, none whatsoever.”

“I’ll take the gentleman’s word, Andy,” Sherman said quietly. “I think we had better go with him and see what this is about.”

Their wait was not a long one. Just after dark a guard brought the news that the gentleman’s carriage was waiting. Sherman and Summers both wore their swords, as they had since the war began. The colonel now had a cavalry revolver in a holster on his belt. The carriage had stopped away from the courtyard lights so they could enter it unseen. As soon as the door was closed, they were on their way. It took only a few minutes to drive to Mayfair. As soon as they stopped, the door was opened and a man looked in and nodded to the Earl.

“You were no’ followed,” he said with a thick Scottish accent. “Angus there said the street is empty.”

They emerged into a mews of carriage houses. The Earl of Eglinton led the way through a gate and into the house beyond. The door opened at their approach and they felt their way inside in the darkness. Only when the door was safely closed behind them did the servant uncover the lantern he was carrying. They followed him up the staircase and into a brightly lit room. Three men stood as they entered. Only when the door had closed did the Earl make the introductions.

“Gentlemen, this is General Sherman and his aide, Colonel Summers. General McGregor commands all of Her Majesty’s armed forces in Scotland. The gentleman next to him is Mr. MacLaren of the Highland Council. And this is Mr. Robert Dalglish, who is chairman of…” The Earl of Eglinton hesitated before he finished the sentence, looking distraught. Then he pulled himself up and spoke in a firm voice. “Chairman of the National Party of Scotland.”

Sherman could tell from the way the three men reacted that this revelation was of great importance. “I am sorry, Mr. Dalglish, but I am not familiar with this organization.”

Dalglish smiled wryly and nodded. “I did not think that you would be, General. It is what might be called by some an illegal organization, one that believes in Scottish nationalism. Our precursor was the Association for the Vindication of Scottish Rights. This was a worthy organization that worked for a reformed administration in Scotland. Their cause was a good one — but in the end accomplished little that mattered. We of the National Party have set our sights higher since the conflict with the Americans began. There is much agreement that it is time for a change across the breadth of Scotland. We, and our sympathizers in high places, work for the cause of Scotland’s freedom.”

Sherman nodded; the reason for this clandestine meeting was becoming clear.

“Gentlemen, please be seated,” the Earl of Eglinton said. “That is a carafe of Highland malt whiskey on the table — may I serve you?”

Sherman had a moment to think while the drinks were being poured. He raised his glass then and spoke quietly.

“Gentlemen, shall we drink to the freedom of the Scottish nation?” he asked.

With these words the tension seemed to drain from the air. They were of a common mind, a common purpose. But some matters needed clarification. Sherman turned to McGregor.

“You said, General, that you were commander in chief of Her Majesty’s forces in Scotland.”

“That was indeed my title. I now prefer to simply call myself commander of the army in Scotland. My troops are all in their barracks — where they will remain until there are further instructions. You of course know that the Scottish soldiers who fought in Liverpool have been disarmed and have returned north.”

“What do your officers think of this turn of events?”

“I will be completely frank with you, sir. There are some English officers attached to our regiments. They are temporarily under detention. All of the other officers are with us in this.”

Sherman thought about this, then turned to Robert Dalglish. “With the military of a single mind — I think I know how members of your National Party must feel. But what of the rest of the population of Scotland?”

“I of course cannot speak for them,” Dalglish said. “But if a poll were taken tomorrow I have no doubt of the outcome. Our people will speak as one. A Scotland free of English influence. The restitution of our sovereign right to self-government taken away from us one hundred and sixty years ago when our own parliament was abolished by that blackmailing Act of Union. I am sure that it can be done without violence.”

“I am of a like mind, Mr. Dalglish. The United States encourages democracy in other countries, an objective that has succeeded in Mexico, Canada, and very recently in Ireland. What are your thoughts on that?”

Dalglish smiled. “We have representatives now in the Irish republic studying how democracy works there. We want nothing better than free elections in a free Scotland.”

“Rest assured, then,” Sherman said. “My country will stand by you in this endeavor.”

“Let it be swiftly done,” Dalglish said with great feeling. “I raise my glass and thank you, General. This is a most memorable moment in the history of my land.”

The rains of the previous night had blown themselves out. The dawn of the day of the first meeting of Parliament since the war began bright and clear. The wet streets glinted in the sunlight as Benjamin Disraeli’s richly ornamented coach came down Whitehall to Parliament Square. Big Ben struck the hour of eleven as it drew up at the entrance. The footman ran to let down the step, then stood aside as Mill and Disraeli descended. They passed, heads down, before the blue-clad soldiers guarding the entrance.

Parliament was again in session.

The opening was brief, even curt, and the MPs murmured loudly in protest. Lord Russell, in the front row, rose slowly, nodded at the opposition on the opposite benches, ignoring John Stuart Mill completely, although he was just a few feet away.

“Gentlemen, this is a most tragic day.” His voice was hollow and laden with portents of gloom. “I know not how to advise you, for too much horror has passed since last we sat. Our arms are broken, our country occupied. Our queen a prisoner in Osborne House.” Voices were raised in anger at his words; there were even violent shouts. The speaker banged his gavel repeatedly, calling for order. Russell raised his hand and the protests slowly died away.

“I have been told that the House of Lords has been abolished — hundreds of years of our history wiped out with a stroke of the pen.”

The shouting grew in angry volume, feet stamped in rage upon the floor, and they did not stop, no matter how Lord Russell called out to them, the speaker shouting hoarsely for them to cease, banging over and over again with his gavel. Only a few of the MPs were aware that the doors had opened and that American soldiers, rifles at the ready, stood in the opening. They opened ranks to let a general officer through; he marched straight ahead and stopped before Lord Russell and spoke to him. Russell nodded slowly and raised his hands for silence. Slowly and reluctantly the noise abated. When his voice could be heard again, Russell spoke.

“I have been reminded once more that this House now operates under certain restraints. We must let our voices be heard — but we must get on with the matters to hand. If we do not do this, we will be silencing ourselves, even before we have spoken. We owe it to the people of this country, whom we represent, to speak up on their behalf. Terrible events have occurred and we have survived them. But this house must also survive and be heard, for we speak for the nation.”

There was a murmur of approval from the members as Russell resumed his seat. The American officer turned and left the chamber, his soldiers following after; the doors were closed. With Russell seated, Benjamin Disraeli, leader of the opposition, rose in his stead.

“May I remind the honorable gentlemen of our history. If we forget history we risk repeating it. Once before, this land was riven by violence. A king unthroned, Parliament dissolved. A man who called himself the Protector assumed control of this country and ruled it with an iron hand. But I ask for no latter-day Cromwell now. I ask only that we maintain the rule of law as set forth in the Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights. I ask you to hear what Mr. John Stuart Mill has to say to us.”

The silent hatred in the venerable chamber was almost palpable. Mill felt it — but ignored it. He had come here armed with truth, and that was his strength and his shield. He stood and looked around him, standing straight, his hands clasped behind his back.

“I wish to speak to you about the extent that forms of government are a matter of choice. I speak of principles that I have been working up during the greater part of my life, and most of these practical suggestions have been anticipated by others — many of them sitting in this house.

“In your debates both Liberals and Conservatives seem to have differed. But I say to you that a much better doctrine must be possible, not a mere compromise, by splitting the differences between the two, leaving something wider than either, which, in virtue of its superior comprehensiveness, might be adopted by either Liberal or Conservative without renouncing anything which he really feels to be valuable to his own creed.

“I ask you to look upon our own history when you look at the Americans who now move among us.” Mill waited patiently until the angry murmurs had died away. “Do not see them as strangers, for they are indeed verily our sons. The truth is that their country has been built upon what were our doctrines. The founding principles of the United States were British ideas of liberty to begin with. They may have slipped from our hands since that time, but they are still enshrined on the other side of the Atlantic.

“That the Americans have modeled their democracy on ours is a fact that should flatter, not incense us. They have an upper and lower chamber of their congress, just as we do. But with a single great difference. All of their representatives are elected. Power flows up from the people, not down from the top, as is our practice here.

“I heard many of you cry out in anger at the decree that has abolished the House of Lords. But the notion that power can be conferred by blood struck the Americans as absurd. Which it is. As that astute Englishman Thomas Paine argued — it is people of high talent, not birth, who should rule the country. For him a hereditary governing class was as absurd as a hereditary mathematician, or a hereditary wise man — and as ridiculous as a hereditary poet laureate.”

There were shouts of anger at these words — but also calls to let Mill speak on. Mill took the opportunity to glance at a sheet of notes he had taken from his pocket, spoke again in a loud and clear voice.

“There is one great difference between our two democracies. In America, rule is from the bottom up. Here it is from the top down. It is the monarch who rules absolutely, who even owns the land under our feet. The Queen opens and closes Parliament, which is led by her prime minister. At sea it is the Royal Navy that guards our shores.

“In this, America is completely different — it has its constitution, which spells out the people’s rights. The closest that Britain has to the Constitution is the Bill of Rights of 1689, which reads, ‘And whereas the said late King James the Second having abdicated the government and the throne being hereby vacant, his Highness the Prince of Orange…’ Now I must draw your close attention to the next words:’… whom it hath pleased Almighty God to make the instrument of delivering this kingdom from popery and arbitrary power.’

“This is clear enough. Power in this land comes not from the people but from on high. Your monarch rules with her authority, which is on loan from God. She in turn passes her power on to the government — while the people remain its servant.”

“You insult us!” an angry member calls on. “You speak not of the power vested in Parliament by our Magna Carta.”

Mill nodded. “I thank the gentleman for bringing that document to our attention. But neither the Magna Carta nor the Bill of Rights points out clearly the rights of our citizens. Indeed the Magna Carta is wholly concerned with the relationship of twenty-five barons to the King and the church. And, to the modern citizen, its contents are incredibly opaque. Hear this: ‘All counties, hundreds, wapentakes and trithings shall be at the old rents without any additional payment, except our demesne manors.’ And this as well: ‘No clerk shall be amerced in respect of his lay holding except after the manner of the others aforesaid.’ I am sure that all here will agree that this is not a practical guide to good, modern government. I would therefore point out to you a document that is.”

Mill took a thin, bound folio from his pocket and held it up. “This is the Constitution of the United States. It endows power to the people — who lend some of this power to the government. It is the most radical statement of human rights in the history of the human race.

“What I sincerely ask this house to do is to read this document, peruse your Bill of Rights and Magna Carta, then consider this proposition. That you then assemble in a constitutional congress to prepare a constitution of your own. A British law for British people. I thank you.”

He sat down — and within a moment there were calls and shouts as half of the Parliament rose to their feet and called for attention. The speaker recognized the Prime Minister first.

“I beg to differ from Mr. Mill. He may be English, but he speaks a foreign language — and wants to bring foreign ideas into the rule of this parliament. I say he is not welcome here, nor are his alien kickshaws. Our rule of law was good enough for our fathers, and their fathers before them. It is good enough for us.”

There were cries of acclaim at Russell’s words and no dissenting voices were heard. Speaker after speaker followed him, most echoing his sentiments, although a very few admitted that constitutional reform might be a topic that could bear possible examination. They were shouted down. Benjamin Disraeli waited until the tumult had lessened before he rose to speak.

“I am greatly concerned that my learned opponent has forgotten his own interest in this matter. Did he not himself attempt to introduce a new parliamentary reform act in 1860 that would have reduced the qualifications for voting in all the counties and towns? I believe that only the late Lord Palmerston’s opposition led to the reform’s demise.”

“I suggested reform,” Russell responded. “Not the destruction of our parliamentary heritage.” This was greeted with enthusiastic shouts of agreement.

“Well then,” Disraeli said, still holding the floor, “let us have a motion considering Mr. Mill’s quite intelligent proposals…”

“Let us not!” Lord Russell called out. “I shall not be part of a parliament that sits to consider treason. I am leaving — and call upon all like-minded members to join me.”

This brought on enthusiastic cheers and a growing rumble of feet as the members rose in great numbers and exited the chamber.

In the end only Benjamin Disraeli and a dozen other MPs remained.

“Not a truly representative portion of the house,” Disraeli said quietly.

“I disagree,” Mill said. “This is the core of a congress. It will be joined by others.”

“I sincerely hope that you are right,” Disraeli said with little enthusiasm in his voice. “I am here because I wish to see that the rule of law, and not occupation by a foreign power, be restored to this land. If this congress you propose is the only way — then so be it.”

THUNDER BEYOND THE HORIZON

As soon as the members of the newly established occupying government had arrived from Washington, General Sherman was more than happy to turn over his offices in Buckingham Palace to them. The recently appointed politicians and State Department officials were very welcome to the ornate apartments. Sherman was much more at home in the Wellington barracks, itself no more than a few hundred yards from the palace. The buildings had been standing empty since the guards regiment they housed had been disbanded. A newly arrived regiment of Pennsylvania Rifles had now moved in, and he joined them. When the office walls and the endless paperwork closed in on Sherman he would have his mount saddled, then ride out into Green Park, or St. James’s Park, which was just across Birdcage Walk, and let the wind blow the cobwebs out of his brain. The former commanding officer’s quarters were spacious and very much to his liking. This officer had left the regimental trophies in their cabinets, the bullet-riddled flags still hung upon the wall. When the occupation was over, their rightful owners would return and find everything just as they had left it. Meanwhile, a silken Stars and Stripes stood proudly on a bronze mount before them all.

The officers’ mess was luxurious and comfortable. Sherman was enjoying a late meal there when the guard admitted Gustavus Fox.

“Well, you have been a stranger, Gus. Pull up a chair and sit down. Have you eaten?”

“Much earlier, thank you, Cumph.” Since their journey on the Aurora, despite their age disparity, they had grown quite close. “But it’s my throat that’s parched; I could do with a drink.”

“Easily done.” Sherman signaled to a waiter. “Our departed hosts left behind many barrels of fine ale. I shall join you in a glass. Perhaps we can even toast the Gatling gun. Have you heard the little poem that the gunners recite?”

“I don’t believe that I have.”

“It goes like this: ‘Whatever happens, we have got / the Gatling gun, and they have not.’ ”

“It only speaks the truth.”

“It does indeed. Now — what brings you here?”

“A matter of some importance, I truthfully believe.” Fox drank deeply from his glass and nodded happily. “Capital.” When the waiter had gone he took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and slid them across the table. “I’ll leave these with you. But I can sum them up quite clearly. I have had my clerks going through all the British military files, both army and navy. A good many were destroyed, but the capitulation of the armed forces was so swift that most of them were left behind. However, there were still masses of files burned in the War Department fireplaces. Luckily the navy was not as astute and duplicates of the ones that had been destroyed were found in their files. What you have there are details of a convoy of ships. It is called Force A. They sailed from India some weeks ago.”

“India?” Sherman frowned as he pulled the papers toward him. “What kind of a convoy?”

“Troops. Fourteen troop-carrying vessels, most of them liners like the SS Dongola and SS Karmala. Among the units the Rajput Fifty-first Pioneers are listed. Along with the Second Battalion of North Lancashire Rifles, the Twenty-fifth Battalion of Royal Fusiliers — and more like that. They are accompanied by a number of warships, including the HMS Homayun, as well as the armorclad HMS Goliath.”

“I don’t like this at all. A force this size can raise a lot of dander. When are they due here?”

“If they keep to their schedule — in about one week’s time.”

“Do you think they have been informed about the war — and the occupation?”

“I am sure of that. As you know, most of the British navy that was at sea did not return to port. More than one ship fled Portsmouth to escape capture. Some of them surely knew about this convoy and would go to join it. Also, the convoy will have stopped at coaling stations en route, which would have been informed by telegraph of world events. We can be sure that they know exactly what has happened here.”

“You’re in the navy, Gus. Any idea of what we should do?”

Fox raised his hands in surrender. “No, sir! This is well out of my league. But I did send Admiral Farragut a copy of these shipping movements and asked him to join us here.”

“A wise move. He is a sound tactician.”

While the waiter was refilling their glasses, Sherman read through the papers that Fox had given him. Then he had the waiter bring him a pencil and made some notes on the back of one of those sheets. When he spoke again his voice was grim.

“That is a sizable infantry force that is coming our way. I doubt if they will have the strength to retake this country from us, but there will still be some terrible battles if they manage to get ashore. If they do, there will surely be risings as well from demobilized British soldiers. This is not what we want.”

Admiral Farragut was of a like mind when he joined them. “Bad news indeed. I’ve sent orders to all our ships to refuel and stand ready.”

“What do you plan to do?” Sherman asked.

“Nothing — until we have worked out where the convoy is headed. They will not go to the assigned ports that are in these orders, you can be sure of that. They will know by now about the occupation and the commanding officer of the troops will plan accordingly. I think the decision must be yours, General, because this is a military matter. Their army commanders will be planning a landing — or landings. Their navy will act as an escort and provide fire to cover any landings.”

“That was my thought as well.” Sherman finished his ale and rose. “Let us take this discussion to my office and consult the maps there.”

The map of the British Isles was unfolded on the desk below the oil lamp. General Sherman studied it thoughtfully.

“Any ideas, Gus?” he asked.

“None! I have no intelligence of their destination and am no tactician. I will not attempt to even guess.”

“Very wise. Which leaves the responsibility to me. First — let us limit the possibilities.” He tapped on the map. “I think that we can eliminate landings in the north and west. Scotland and Wales are too distant from the seat of power. Cornwall is the same as well. We must look to London.”

“They will not attempt to come up the Thames as we did,” Farragut said. “It is common knowledge that our floating batteries are still stationed there. But here to the east, in the Wash, there are protected waters where landings are possible. Or farther south, perhaps, at the port of Harwich.”

Sherman shook his head. “Again — too far from the center. Harwich is a better possibility, it is surely close enough to London. But we would be warned if they landed there and could easily mass the troops to stop them. Therefore I believe that it is the south coast that we must worry about. They will know that we have seized Portsmouth, so they will not come ashore there. But here, farther east along the south coast, it is very different. Flat beaches, shallow waters, easy access from the sea. Brighton. Newhaven. Hastings.” He ran his finger along the coast.

“Hastings, 1066,” Fox said. “The last successful invasion before ours.”

“I can station a screen of ships across the mouth of the English Channel,” the admiral said. “From Bournemouth right across to the Cherbourg Peninsula. The Channel can’t be more than eighty miles wide there. A force the size of this one coming from India would be easily spotted as it approached. But, of course, if they do go west to Cornwall or beyond, we will never see them. Their troops would be well ashore before we knew anything about it.”

The ticking of the clock could be clearly heard in the silence that followed. This was a command decision — and General William Tecumseh Sherman was in command. The burden of decision rested upon his shoulders alone. His commander in chief was on the other side of the Atlantic and could not be consulted in time. It was indeed his sole judgment. He glanced up at the clock.

“Admiral, can you meet me here at eight o’clock in the morning to discuss your orders?”

“I shall be here.”

“Fine. Gus, I want your clerks to rake through the files. Get me the strengths of all the units listed in these orders. I will also want that by eight in the morning at the latest. Earlier, if you can manage it.”

“I’ll get onto it right now.”

“Good. On your way out, tell the officer of the day to send for my staff. It is going to be a long night.”

Dawn was just breaking when a haggard-eyed Fox brought the files with the strengths of the various military units that were in the approaching convoy. The staff officers moved aside when he came in and handed the papers to General Sherman.

“They are all here, General. All of the troops listed as being in the convoy. I wish I could be as sure of the accompanying naval vessels. Here are the original manifests, but any number of ships could have joined the convoy since they sailed. The route and dates of the convoy were well known throughout the fleet. Any or all of the British ships that escaped capture could be with the convoy now.”

“Excellent. Now I suggest that you get some rest. You have done all that could be done.”

Sherman himself looked as alert as he had the evening before. A seasoned campaigner, he was used to days and nights without sleep. By eight o’clock, before Admiral Farragut arrived, the plans were well in hand. Once the orders had been written, the staff officers dispersed to implement them as soon as possible. Sherman was alone, looking out the window at the park when the admiral came in.

“It is done,” Sherman said. “Orders have been issued and the first troop movements will begin this morning.”

“To… where?”

“Here,” Sherman said, slapping his hand down on the map of the south coast of England. “They will try to land here — they have no other choice. But our troops will soon be digging in all along this coast. From Hastings to Brighton. The heart of our defenses will be at Newhaven Fort, right here. Some of the guns there were damaged, but they have all been replaced by now. That coast will soon be bristling with American might. Any attempts to land will be blasted from the water. But I hope that disaster will not happen. It must be averted.”

“How do you plan to do that?”

“I will be able to tell you when I join you. When do you estimate that it is the earliest that the convoy will arrive?”

“They may be slower than anticipated, but in any case they cannot get to the Channel any faster than was originally planned. Three more days at the earliest.”

“Good. You will post your ships at the Channel mouth, as you outlined last night. I shall join you in two days’ time. Will you have a ship for me in Portsmouth?”

“The Devastation just came in from patrol and is refueling in Southampton. I’ll telegraph orders for her to await you there, then she will join us in station. I sincerely hope that you are right in your summation of the situation, General.”

Sherman smiled wryly. “Admiral, I have to be right or we are lost. If the British army from India gets ashore, it will be a ragtag, murderous invasion with no guarantee of a successful outcome for either side. I have issued my orders. What happens next is up to the enemy.”

As soon as it had been deemed safe, John Mill’s daughter, Helen, had joined him in London. Through an agent she had found a most attractive furnished house to rent in Mayfair, on Brook Street. She knew how important a warm home environment was for Mill and she bent every effort in that direction. The strain of the work that he was doing was very great indeed, and he walked now with his shoulders bent, as though he were carrying a heavy load. As indeed he was. He was in his sitting room, still in sleeping cap and dressing gown, enjoying his morning tea, when Helen brought in a copy of The Times.

“I am almost afraid to read it these days,” he said, touching the newspaper gingerly with the tips of his fingers.

Helen laughed as he squinted at the first page. “It is not really that bad. They are actually weighing arguments pro and con concerning the proposed constitution — instead of thundering away, all barrels blazing, the way they did in the beginning.” She reached into the pocket of her dress and took out some envelopes. “Your Mr. Disraeli was here even before the morning post and left these off for you.”

“Wonderful! I shall put the newspaper aside with pleasure. He promised me a list of possible members for the proposed congress — this will hopefully be them.” He quickly read through the papers. “That is a familiar name. Charles Bradlaugh?”

“You must remember him, Papa. The founder of the National Reformer and a great pamphleteer.”

“Of course — yes! A committed republican and a freethinker. I can hear the wounded cries now if we permit an atheist to join our congress. Indeed, we must have him. I will get an invitation off to him today. Ah — and here is Frederic Harrison as well. A gentleman well-known to the working classes as possessing a practical knowledge of how the trade unions operate. Disraeli strongly advises that he be present, and I can only agree.”

With Disraeli’s aid and political know-how, a list of members for a constitutional congress was slowly being assembled. There were veteran politicians and reformers like William Gladstone, as well as up-and-coming politicians like Joseph Chamberlain. Although the newspapers sneered at the very idea of this congress and the political cartoonists had a field day at its expense, a possible panel was slowly being formed. Now it was only a matter of fixing a date that would be suitable for all parties concerned. What had seemed like a novel invention at first soon began to take on the appearance of respectability.

WAITING FOR DESTINY

Three days had passed since the USS Devastation had joined the squadron that stretched across the mouth of the English Channel. This was the proper place to intercept any ships entering the Channel where it joined the Atlantic Ocean. The northernmost ship in the line cruised within easy sight of Portland Bill. South of it, using just enough power to breast the incoming tide, rode USS Virginia. Beyond this ship, almost on the horizon, another American ironclad was just visible. The line of warships now reached from within sight of the English coast right across the Channel as far as Cap de la Hague on the tip of the Cherbourg Peninsula. Every ship in the squadron was in sight of at least two others. When the British came — if they came — there was no way that they could escape observation.

If they came. This little word echoed over and over in General Sherman’s brain as he paced the flying bridge of the Devastation. When they had joined the squadron they had taken up station next to Admiral Farragut’s flagship, USS Mississippi, at the center of the line. She was still in position next to them, steaming as slowly as they were.

Sherman once again found himself standing at the rail, looking east across the empty sea. Would the convoy come? Had he been wrong in his assumption that they would attack the south coast of England? For the thousandth time he tracked the logic that had led him to the inevitable conclusion that this was what they would do. He still believed they must strike at this coast, but three days of waiting had left his theory hard-pressed. As he turned away he saw that a small boat was pulling away from the Pennsylvania. He realized suddenly that it must be noon — that was the hour appointed for his meeting with the admiral. They would discuss tactics yet again, and the state of the squadron, and Farragut would stay for luncheon. Sherman’s eyes strayed once more to the empty horizon, before he left the bridge and went to wait for the admiral on the deck.

“Still fine weather,” Farragut said as they shook hands. Sherman only nodded and led the way below. There was nothing they could say that had not been said often before. Sherman took the carafe from the sideboard and held it up.

“Will you join me in a sherry before we dine?”

“An excellent thought.”

Sherman had just poured out the drinks when a seaman burst through the door.

“Captain’s compliments.” The words rushed from his mouth. “The lookout reports ships to the southeast.”

The sailor had to move swiftly aside as the two officers rushed past him. By the time they had reached the bridge, the line of ships could be seen on the horizon. Captain Van Horn lowered his telescope. “The leading ship is an armorclad — you can tell by her upper works. And there is more smoke from ships still not in sight. Eight, ten of them at least.”

“Is this it?” Sherman asked.

Van Horn nodded firmly. “Without doubt, General. There could be no other force that size at sea.”

“Follow General Sherman’s orders,” Admiral Farragut said as he turned away. “I must return to my command and issue the signal to assemble all our force here.”

“I want you to approach those ships as soon as the admiral’s boat is clear. And do it slowly.”

Van Horn nodded. “Slow ahead. Five knots, no more.”

“Would you also have that flag hung in the bow,” Sherman said.

The captain’s orders were relayed to the deck and two sailors ran forward with a bundle of cloth. Grommets had been attached to the corners of one of the tablecloths from the officers’ mess. It was quickly fixed to a line and run up the bow mast. The approaching ships could not miss seeing the white flag. Nor the Stars and Stripes flying from the masthead.

When they had halved the distance to the approaching convoy, the captain stopped the engines. They drifted slowly to a stop, rolling in the light seas. The brisk westerly wind caught the improvised flag and it flapped out for all to see.

“If they should open fire?” Captain Van Horn asked brusquely.

“They won’t,” Sherman said firmly. “It would not be gentlemanly. And they are certainly aware of the other ironclads behind us. They will know what that means.”

If Sherman had any doubts about the wisdom of meeting the enemy like this, he did not express them. Twice before in his life he had ended conflict with a flag of truce. He had every faith that he could do it once again.

The leading ships could be seen quite clearly now; black armor and menacing guns. Signal flags had been run up and it appeared that the convoy had slowed. However, one of the ironclads had drawn away from the others and approached the American ship.

“Defender,” Van Horn said, peering through his glass again. “Main defenses six hundred-pounders, the new modified Warrior class.”

The British warship was coming right toward them, smoke pouring from its funnels, a bone in its teeth. As it drew closer it could be seen that its guns were trained on the American ship. When it had closed to within two hundred yards, it turned and slowed, presenting its starboard side. And as it turned, its guns turned as well, keeping trained on the Devastation.

“Has the boat been lowered?” Sherman asked.

“In the water as you ordered.”

Without another word Sherman left the bridge and scant moments later had climbed down into the waiting barge. Eight oars dipped as one and the craft shot swiftly across the water. As it approached the black flank of the British warship, it could be seen that a boarding ladder had been lowered over the side. Sherman climbed it as swiftly as he could. As he pulled himself up onto the deck, he found an army officer waiting for him.

“Follow me,” the man said abruptly, and turned away. Two sailors armed with muskets fell in behind them as they walked to the companionway. In the wardroom below, two army officers were waiting, both general officers. Sherman came to attention and saluted. They returned the salute in the British manner.

“We have met before, General Sherman,” the first officer said.

“Yes, in Canada. You are Brigadier Somerville.”

Somerville nodded slowly. “This is General Sir William Armstrong, commander in chief of Her Majesty’s forces in India.”

“Why are you here?” Armstrong asked brusquely, barely controlling his anger at meeting the man who had conquered his country.

“I am here to save lives, General Armstrong. We know the size and strength of your command from the documents that we seized in London. You will see behind me a major force of ironclads that will not permit you to pass peacefully, should you attempt to enter the Channel. They will avoid your warships, wherever possible, and concentrate on sinking your troopships. Should any of the transports succeed in passing our forces by, I want to inform you that the entire southern coast of England is now defended by American troops and guns. Any boats that attempt to land troops will be blown out of the water.”

“How do you know what we plan to do?” Armstrong snapped, cold anger in his voice.

“It was what I would have done, General. It was the only possible option.”

“Do we have your word that your troops are stationed here?” Somerville asked coldly.

“You have my word, sir. We have had a week to prepare our defenses. Newhaven Fort has been rearmed. The Twentieth Texas has dug in behind the shore at Hastings and are supported by five batteries of cannon. Do you wish me to list the defenders in the other positions?”

“That will be sufficient, General. You have given us your word.” Somerville’s voice was uneven as he spoke; his shoulders slumped. He had tried; they all had tried.

But they had failed.

“Return the Indian troops to India,” Sherman said. “If they come here they will only die. The fleet and the guns are waiting.”

“But my country!” Armstrong said, his voice rough with anger. “You have conquered, destroyed—”

“Conquered, yes,” Sherman snapped. “Destroyed, no. We only want peace and an end to this reckless war between our nations. Even now your politicians are meeting to found a new British government. When they have done that and the rule of law has been restored — we look forward to returning home. We want peace — not continued conflict. When you rule your own country once again, we will go. That is all that we want.”

“And we must believe this?” Somerville said, bitterness in his voice.

“You have no choice, General, no choice at all.”

“Take this man outside and hold him there,” Armstrong ordered the armed sailors standing by the door.

Sherman shrugged off their hands when they reached for him, turned, and left; the door closed behind them. In the corridor he looked coldly at the sailors; they shuffled their feet and did not meet his gaze. They had heard what had been said inside. The taller of them, a petty officer from his insignia, looked around then spoke quietly.

“What’s happening ashore, sir? We hear but little, the worst kind of scuttlebutt.”

“The war is over,” Sherman said, not unkindly. “Our troops won the day. There were deaths on both sides, but there is peace now. If your politicians agree, there will be a lasting peace in the years to come. If we can leave your country with that peace guaranteed — we will do just that. That is our desire, just as it must be yours.”

Sherman heard the door open behind him, turned, and entered the saloon.

“You have reached a decision,” he said. It was not a question.

“We have,” General Armstrong said, bitterness in his voice. “The Indian troops will return to India. You can guarantee them a safe passage?”

“I can. What of the British troops? Will they surrender?”

“Terms must be discussed first.”

“Of course. And your navy ships?”

“That you must discuss with the admiral commanding. I cannot speak for him.”

“Naturally. I feel that you are making a wise decision.”

“Not wise, but the only possible one,” Somerville said, resignedly. General Sherman could only nod in agreement.

At last the long war that had begun when the Confederate representatives had been taken from a British ship, which had spread from America to Mexico and Ireland, which had ended here in England, was over.

DAWN OF A NEW DAY

“There is a gentleman at the door to see you, Father,” Helen said. “He sent in his card.”

John Stuart Mill took the card, held it to the light. “Ah, Mr. William Gladstone. He has had my letter, then, and responded accordingly. Please show him in.”

They shook hands warmly when Helen ushered Gladstone in, for this was a meeting that both men greatly desired.

“I came as soon as I had your communication. Unhappily I was out of the country for the last parliamentary session and I do regret missing it. I have had mixed reports from my colleagues — but all of them tell me that, if you would excuse the expression, the fur did fly.”

Mill laughed aloud. “It surely did.” He warmed to the politician and was pleased. This was a most important encounter.

“Mr. Gladstone,” Helen said. “Would you take tea with us?”

“I would be delighted.”

“Please be seated,” Mill said. “This is a meeting I have long desired. I have read your political writings with great interest, great interest.”

“You are kind to say that.”

“It is but the truth. You were responsible for the Railway Bill of 1844 that opened up third-class travel for all in Britain. It was only due to your insistence that trains now stop at every station in the country. I admire your interest in the ordinary folk of this land.”

“Indeed they do interest me — for they are citizens just as you and I are.”

“They are, without a doubt, but that is not a popular point of view. I also note that although you have always rejected the idea of parliamentary reform, you spoke up in favor of it when Edward Baines introduced his reform bill. You argued that it was manifestly unfair that only one-fiftieth of the working classes had the vote.”

“That is indeed true — and it is perhaps the main reason that my views on reform changed.”

Mill leaned forward, his voice tense with the grave import of his question. “Then I take it that you are in favor of universal suffrage?”

“I am indeed. I believe that every man in this land should have a vote.”

Helen had opened the door and carried in the tea tray; she could not help but overhear these last words. “But, Mr. Gladstone, to be truly universal, should not suffrage include women as well as men?”

Gladstone was on his feet as he spoke, bowed graciously, and smiled. “My dear Miss Mill, your father has written of the aid you have given him in his writings. Now, having met you, I can surely believe that. Yes, I do agree that someday the vote must be extended to women. But the longest journey begins with but a single step. This is a conservative country and we will be hard-pressed to obtain universal male suffrage. But I promise that when the time is right, the vote will be extended to be truly universal.”

Helen smiled, and responded to his bow with a gracious curtsy. “I shall hold you to your word, sir. Now — let me pour your tea and then leave you gentlemen to your discussions.”

Gladstone sipped his tea and nodded toward the closed door. “Your daughter is a jewel, Mr. Mill. I hope that you will not be offended when I say that she has a mind like a man’s.”

“I understand your meaning, sir, though Helen might take some offense.”

“None intended! I meant simply that I can see why you value her contributions to your labors.”

“I do, greatly. She is the one who convinced me that a universal ballot must also be a secret ballot for general elections. This will prevent working-class people being influenced in their vote by watching employers and landlords.”

“That is indeed a cogent observation. I had not considered that aspect of the vote, but now that I have thought it out, I can see that it will be of utmost importance.”

“But you do realize that a secret ballot with all men eligible to vote — might be the very force that changes this country forever?”

“In what way?”

“Now, as you well know, sovereignty in Britain does not rest with the people, but with the Crown-in-Parliament. This parliamentary sovereignty is the British concentration of power. This means that Parliament is supreme and nothing can stand before it. Not the will of the people — not even the law. If a statute blocks the will of the government, why, ministers can simply change it. Even if that obstacle is common law evolved over the centuries.”

“Unhappily, that is indeed true.”

“But if power flows upward from the people, this would not be possible. The people must elect their representatives to work the common will. If they do not — why, they will be ejected from power. That, and the checks and balances of the judiciary and a supreme court, will be the force to ensure that the will of the people will be sovereign. Not hereditary lords or a hereditary monarch. Not even God can alter that.”

“You believe then that disestablishmentarianism is to be intended?”

“I do. There shall be no ordained church ruled by the monarch. As in the American constitution, there should be no established church at all. In fact, there must be a strict separation between church and state.”

Gladstone put his teacup down, nodded, and sighed.

“This may prove a bitter pill to feed to the people of this island.”

“Strong medicine is sometimes needed. But with your good grace, Mr. Gladstone, and the others in our constitutional congress, the will of the people could become the law of the country.”

“A noble ambition — and hopefully a possible one. I am your man, Mr. Mill, behind you every step of the way.”

The crew on duty aboard the newly launched USS Stalwart, named for the dauntless warship sunk during the battle for Ireland, looked on with interest as the magnificent steam yacht came up the Solent and slowly passed them by. Their work was to guard the city of Portsmouth, and the great naval station there. But they could see no threat in this well-turned-out little ship that was flying the royal ensign of Belgium. They would have found no menace there — even if they had not received strict orders to let the vessel pass undisturbed. In the last of the evening sun, the yacht passed through Southampton Water and into Cowes Roads. After rounding the Isle of Wight, it drifted gently up to the fenders on the dockside in Cowes. Its arrival must have been expected, because a carriage was there, waiting.

Others besides the carriage driver had been expecting the trim vessel’s arrival. There was another yacht tied up farther down the docks. A yacht as well turned out and gleaming as the royal Belgian one.

On the bridge of the Aurora two men stood, watching the other vessel’s arrival. They were both dressed in well-cut broadcloth suits, but each had the bearing of a military man.

“So far, Count, your information seems to be more than accurate,” Gustavus Fox said.

“It should be,” Count Korzhenevski said, “since I paid a good deal in gold for it. Belgium is a small country, its politicians notoriously penurious. However, one or two of them know that my agent there pays well for sound information. They queue up to be bribed. You have alerted the navy?”

“As soon as I got your message and arrived here. That yacht is not to be approached, searched, or troubled in any way. Free to come — even freer to leave.”

“I am glad of that,” the Count said, looking through his glasses again. “But one does wish that they could be a little more discreet. That is the fifth large trunk that has been loaded aboard from that dray.”

“The German nobility has never been known for its intelligence.”

“Quite.” The Count squinted at the sun setting behind the rolling hills. “It will be dark soon.”

“Not soon enough. The quicker this escapade is over and done with, the happier I will be.”

“Do not despair, dear Gus.” The Count laughed and pulled at his arm. He snapped a quick command in Russian to the officer on watch. “Come below and share a bottle of champagne. We shall be called as soon as there is any activity on the pier.”

In Osbourne House there was a great stirring when the Belgian Foreign Minister, Baron Surlet de Chokier, was admitted. The Queen was waiting, wearing black traveling dress and fussing over her younger children. The Prince of Wales, known to all the family as Bertie, stood to one side; Alexandra, his bride of two years, also beside him. They were a contrasting pair: she was slight, and very attractive. Young though he was, if the pudgy Bertie had ever had any charm, it was long since gone. Black-bearded and potbellied, he was already going bald. He looked on, apparently bored, when the Baron spoke to the Queen.

“It has all been arranged, Your Majesty. King Leopold was immensely concerned with the safety of you and your family, and indeed was most relieved when you accepted his offer of sanctuary. The yacht is tied up and awaiting only your presence.”

“It will be safe?” Victoria sounded lost, unsure of herself.

“I assure Your Majesty that Belgium will provide a safe haven for you, far from this devastated, war-torn country. Your bags are being loaded. We only await your royal presence.”

The Queen looked down at the children, wrapped warmly in jackets, and then at Bertie and the bare-armed Alexandra.

“You’ll get a chill,” she said firmly.

“Not really, Mama,” Bertie said, a sly smile on his lips. “I think that Alexandra and I will be quite safe here in Osbourne House.”

“But — we planned. For all our safety…” Then Victoria’s eyes widened and she gasped. “You are not coming!” Her voice was shrill, angry. “You will remain here, behind my back? We are the Queen. You have been talking to the monarchists, haven’t you? Behind my back!”

“Of course not, Mama,” he said. But there was little reassurance in his voice and the tiny smile belied the meaning of his words.

“You want me gone!” she screeched. “With me in Belgium, you want the crown for yourself!”

“Don’t excite yourself, Mother, it does you ill. You will enjoy Belgium, I am sure.”

In the end Bertie excused himself and left, waving the shocked Alexandra after him. It was some time before the horrified ladies-in-waiting could convince the Queen that she must go on the yacht — if only for the sake of the children. Weeping and distraught, she eventually entered the carriage, hugging the crying children to her.

Aboard the Aurora, over half of the bottle of vintage champagne was gone before Gus and the Count were summoned on deck once again. Although the lamps on the dock had not been lit, the waning moon cast enough illumination for them to clearly see the arrival of the carriages. Dark figures, one after another, emerged and were hurried up the gangway. Even as the passengers were boarding, a cloud of smoke issued from the little vessel’s funnel and floated across the harbor. Soon after that the lines were taken in and the yacht puffed out into the Solent. Minutes later the Aurora moved slowly in her wake. They sailed past the anchored naval vessels and out into the ocean. The Belgian yacht continued away from the shore a good few miles before she altered her course to the east.

“She is now out of British territorial waters and well on her way to Belgium,” the Count said happily. “Now — let us finish that bottle since this necessitates a little celebration.”

Once in the salon, he poured their glasses full, raised his on high. “This calls for a toast,” Korzhenevski said. “Did your American schools teach you about Bonnie Prince Charlie?”

“Not really. We are not a country that goes in much for British history.”

“A serious lapse. One must always know one’s adversaries. It seems that in Scotland they toasted the deposed prince as ‘the King over the water.’ ”

“That has a nice ring to it.” Gus raised his glass as well. “Shall we drink, then, to the Queen over the water?” They touched glasses and drank deep.

“Did they really think that we wanted to keep her here?” Gus mused. “King Leopold has done us an immense favor. Too bad we cannot thank him.”

Although it was after dark in England, it was still early afternoon in Washington City. President Abraham Lincoln looked wearily at the papers that cluttered his desk, then pushed them away. He pressed the electric button that summoned his secretary. John Nicolay poked his head in through the door.

“Take these away, John, if you will. I can’t bear the sight of them. I foolishly thought that with the coming of peace, there would be a vast diminution in the paperwork. There is, if anything, a good deal more. Away with them.”

“Just as you say.” He squared the sheets into a neat pile, then took more folded papers from his pocket. “I was just going to bring this in. The morning report from the War Department.”

“Ah, the military mind. Their idea of what constitutes morning sure stumps me. Anything there that I want to hear?”

“Mostly passing on reports from London. The constitutional congress is still meeting, and they expect to have a document that they can vote upon by this time next week.”

“Sure are taking their time.”

“Our Continental Congress took a lot longer to draw up the Constitution.”

“Indeed they did. I stand corrected. Any more?”

“Yes. A report from General Sherman. He will be in Edinburgh by now with his commission. The terms of the separate peace with Scotland are all agreed and will be formerly signed now.”

“So the Scots will have their own parliament. That will not go down well with the English.”

“That the Scots do have — and no, it did not go down very well at all south of their border. The English newspapers are incensed and predict riots and blood in the streets.”

“They always do — but thankfully it never happens. Sherman is too good a soldier to permit anything like that to take place. Like it or not, they have had peace thrust upon them.”

“There is also a confidential report from Gus Fox that Queen Victoria is about to be secretly smuggled out to Belgium.”

“God bless Gus! I don’t know how he managed it, but that is the best news ever. Without her presence in the country, the monarchists will have no rallying point. I would be more than delighted if they vote this constitution in, then elect a representative government so I can bring the boys home.”

“There have been no difficulties on that score from the soldiers, Mr. President. Since General Sherman has been slowly reducing the occupying forces, any of them who want to return home have already done so. There have not been many volunteers. Seems their pay goes a lot further over there. They like the public houses and the women. Only complaints I’ve heard mentioned are about the weather.”

“Well, an army that only complains about the rain must be in pretty good all-around shape. Anything else?”

“That’s all for today. Except Mrs. Lincoln says that she wants you on time for lunch today.”

Lincoln looked up at the clock and nodded. “Guess I better get down there. I want to keep peace in the world.”

“That you have done, Mr. President,” Nicolay said, suddenly serious. “Your first term began with a war — as has your second one. But peace rules now, and may it do so forever.”

“Amen to that, John. Amen.”

Peace at last, Sherman thought. The agreements signed and sealed. And now a separate peace agreement with Scotland. Great Britain had reluctantly been reduced in size. Still, it meant peace in his time. The victory was well worth the battle. But there had been too many stuffy rooms of late — and even stuffier politicians. He walked across to the windows and opened them wide, breathed deeply of the cool night air. Below him were the lights of Edinburgh, with the Royal Mile stretching away down the hill. He turned around when there was a quick knock on the door.

“Open it,” he called out. The sergeant of the guard looked in.

“General Grant is here, sir.”

“Fine. Show him in.”

Grant, smiling through his great black beard, crossed the room and took Sherman by the hand.

“Well, it is all over, Cumph. You really won this one.”

“We all did. Without you and Lee and Meagher — not to mention our new navy — I could have done nothing.”

“I admit, we surely all did our part — but we can’t forget that the strategy was yours, the combined arms and the lightning war. At times I feel sorry for the British soldiers; they must have felt like they were trampled by a stampeding herd of buffalo.”

“Perhaps they were. Our American buffalo just stomped them down and kept on galloping.”

Grant, running his fingers through his beard, nodded agreement. “I doubt if they appreciate it — but it was the best thing that ever happened to them in battle. They took casualties, yes, but not nearly as many as they would have suffered had there been a long war of attrition. Now England, along with Ireland, is at peace and being dragged into being a democracy. And from what I have seen these last weeks, the Scotch seem to be tickled pink to have their own country again.”

“They are a fine people, and like the Irish they now feel indebted to the United States. I feel a certain pride in having people like them on our side. And something else they have — the best-tasting whiskey that I have ever drunk. I have one of their malts here if you would like to join me in a celebratory drink?”

“Just a single one will do me fine. I think of all those years of falling into bed dead drunk every night and feel no wish to return to that condition.”

“You won’t. You have changed too much during these years of war. That man who needed drink to get through the day is long gone. But you are right. One will surely be enough.”

There was a bottle of Glen Morangie and glasses on the sideboard; Sherman poured the drinks and raised his glass. “A toast, then. Something fitting.”

“All I can think of is peace in this world — and heaven in the next.”

“Amen to that.”

General Sherman sipped at the fine whiskey, then turned to the open window to look out at the land that had produced it. General Grant joined him, seeing the sparkling lights of the great city of Edinburgh, then beyond it the dark countryside. A peaceful vista, and their thoughts were at peace as well. But out there, beyond Scotland, was the English Channel. Traditional waterway and barrier that had kept the warring nations of Europe at bay for almost a thousand years. And beyond this barrier was a continent perpetually in turmoil, still wanting to settle its countries’ differences by force of arms.

“There is still a lot of trouble brewing up out there,” Grant said, his words echoing Sherman’s thoughts. “Do you think that those people, all those Europeans with their frictions and feuds and long memories of war and revolution — do you think that they can keep the lid on all their troubles?”

“I certainly hope that they can.”

“Haven’t done too well in the past, have they?”

“Indeed they haven’t. But perhaps they will do better in the future.” Sherman drained his glass, put it down on the table beside him. “Still, they will have to be watched. My appointment by the President was to keep America free. We have all traveled a long and bitter road to assure that freedom. Our country must not be threatened ever again. Nor will it ever be, not while I have a breath in my body.”

“I am with you there, Cumph, we all are. Peace is our aim — but war is our trade. We don’t want it. But if it comes we can lick it.”

“That we surely can. Good night, Ulysses. Sleep well.”

“We all shall sleep well. Now.”