1862 (42 page)

Grant exhaled a cloud of noxious smoke. “In order to succeed, Lee must stay on the move. Should he stop, it will be to our advantage. Then and only then will we be able to bring our superior numbers to bear; otherwise we will be chasing him. My strategy is to cast a net for General Lee. Then, when he is ensnared, take him.”

Nathan listened and again wondered just when and how the shy and taciturn young officer of years past had become a war leader.

Grant gestured towards Colonel Haupt. “My ability to move these separated forces to a place of gathering in a timely manner depends entirely on Colonel Haupt’s railroads.”

Haupt’s eyes gleamed. The challenge was accepted. “We will not fail you, General Grant.”

Halleck was unconvinced, and doubt was evident in his expression. “Why not meet Lee as far south as possible? Why let him lay waste to our lands?”

Grant eyed him coldly. There was no love lost between the two men. Grant’s star was on the ascendant while Halleck was being forced to the background. Already he’d been told that his task was to support Grant, not to direct him. Once, Grant had been Halleck’s subordinate, and the jealous Halleck did not like the current turn of events at all.

“Because every step he takes northward,” said Grant, “takes him farther away from his base and draws him closer to ours. Simply feeding such a large army is a vast undertaking, and I don’t think they have the capability of doing so for any length of time. Whichever way they turn, they will use up food, ammunition, fodder, horses, and manpower that they cannot replace.”

“Like Napoleon in Russia,” Scott whispered.

Grant smiled. “Only Pennsylvania in the fall is not quite as cold as a Russian winter. But yes, I wish to fight the rebels when they are tired, wet, cold, and hungry, and not before. Most crops have already been harvested, which means they will have only what they bring to devour.”

“And you will see to it that pickings are slim, won’t you. General?” asked Stanton.

“I will burn or kill anything they can use.”

Halleck appeared shocked. “You would destroy American property?”

Grant glared at him. “I would burn the very earth itself if I thought I could.”

The train contained but one passenger car, and that car carried but one passenger. General Patrick Cleburne stepped off and was greeted by a small semblance of a band playing something that might have been “Brian Boru’s March,” or even “Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye.” Whichever it was, it was played at a much faster tempo than he was used to, and not particularly well.

Attila Flynn stepped forward and grasped Cleburne’s hand. “Welcome to the Republic of New Ireland, General. Are you here to take me up on my offer?”

Cleburne looked about in mild amusement. Several dozen men armed with a miscellany of weapons stood in uneven ranks before him. A green flag with a white cloth harp sewn in the middle waved from a pole. “Funny, but I thought I was in London, Canada, and not Ireland.”

Flynn smiled. “A detail only, General, and one you can help rectify. Bring the Legion over to us and the Americans will never return Canada to England when a treaty is finally signed. We can use New Ireland ourselves to bargain for Irish independence, or as a refuge for Irish immigrants.”

Cleburne sighed. “Flynn, you are such a damned fool. First, I have said repeatedly that I will never again betray my country, and my country is the United States. Second, Britain will never give Ireland her independence, at least not in our time, and third, Irishmen already have a refuge, and that is the previously mentioned United States.”

Flynn was puzzled. “Then why have you bothered to come here at all?”

“We are leaving, Flynn. The Legion is already headed south and back to the United States. It’s no secret, but the Confederates will be attacking northward, and we will help defend the Union.”

“But what of your promise to fight only England?” Cleburne grinned. “It will be kept. The British have landed an army in Virginia. ’Tis them we will fight, and the men are all for it. If a few rebels get in the way, then so be it, but we are headed south to fight the redcoats.”

So the rumors were true, Flynn thought. The focus of the war was shifting away from Canada.

Cleburne made a cursory inspection of the ranked men. “A villainous lot and Fenians all, I presume?” he asked when he finished and returned to where Flynn stood by the train.

“Of course,” Flynn replied.

“My real reason for visiting you is to let you know where you and this foolishness stand. As I said, I am leaving and my men are going with me. General Smith and a full corps of Union veterans will remain and will continue to put pressure on those British who haven’t gone to Virginia. General Smith is of the thought that he will leave you alone here in London as long as you do not destroy property, or do any killing, or try to enlarge your so-called nation. Break the peace, and he will come down on you like the worst plague that never got into the Bible and hang every scurvy one of you. Accept deserters from the Union army and he will hang them twice, with the first time being by their balls. In short, Mr. Flynn, General Smith is not a nice man and you shouldn’t fuck with him.”

Flynn understood and both men tried not to smile. Despite the apparent tongue-lashing, the message was clear. As long as he did nothing to antagonize General Smith, his Republic of New Ireland could remain on English soil. The United States of America would let the Republic of New Ireland be a public thorn in the side of England, and bloody Palmerston wouldn’t know whether it was being condoned or not. At worst, it would give old Palmerston something else to worry about. Perhaps it would cause the old fart to croak. Flynn was impressed. Abraham Lincoln looked like an ignorant farmer, but he might just be far more devious than anyone thought.

“Don’t you or General Smith worry, General dear, my people will all be perfect angels.”

“Will you be going to Harrisburg with Grant?” Rebecca asked. She tried to keep the anxiety from her voice but was afraid she failed.

“I offered,” Nathan replied with a small shrug, “but he feels more comfortable with the staff he already has, even though Rawlins is far from the most efficient manager in the world. I also think he wants me to watch over General Scott and keep General Halleck out of Meade’s hair. Meade’s excitable enough without anyone provoking him.”

George Gordon Meade had been promoted to major general and given expanded control over the Washington garrison, which now numbered over forty thousand. It was yet another move stripping any battlefield authority from Halleck, who was furious and frustrated at the developments.

“I can’t say I’m disappointed,” Rebecca said. “I much prefer you here with me.”

Nathan chuckled. Tm not complaining.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. Once again they were in the parlor of the residence shared by Nathan and General Scott. This time, they were seated demurely across from each other. The look in her eyes told him she wished it were otherwise, but there was too much going on in the house for privacy, and she would be leaving for her own home in a short while.

“I just don’t understand why the South is going to attempt this conquest of the North.”

“First of all,” he replied, “it will more correctly be called a raid. A gigantic, long-term raid and not a conquest, which, by definition, is an event of long duration. Lee will try to march through us, whip us in a handful of battles, and then return south filled with glory, and us with humiliation and the realization that we can’t beat him. Therefore, it will never be called a conquest.”

“Then why won’t he try to conquer?”

“Because it would mean he would have to garrison and try to hold on to what he has taken. With us having overwhelming superiority in both numbers and equipment, it would only be a matter of time before any conquering Southern army would be pounded to pieces.”

It seemed so strange to Rebecca. Ladies did not sit on a chair facing their beloved and talk about mass killings. What a world this war has made, she thought. “Then what is his goal in causing this raid?”

“Jefferson Davis is very clever. He knows that the British want this war ended soon so they can retake Canada, either by force of arms or at the negotiating table. He hopes that a Confederate victory will bring us to that table.”

“And will it?”

“Not as long as Mr. Lincoln is president. Both the Confederacy and the British underestimate Lincoln’s resolve in the matter of preserving the Union. Even if the Anglo-Confederate forces do win a battle or two, they will never win the war. At least, not so long as Mr. Lincoln is president.”

She thought she understood. “Then, if the North is defeated in battle, it might cause Lincoln to be defeated in the next election. In which case, he might be replaced by someone less vigorous in defense of the Union. McClellan, for instance. Or, a defeat might cause him to lose control of Congress.”

“Correct.” It was marvelous to be able to talk with a woman who understood matters. “And it is also why General Grant will do his utmost to ensure that General Lee is not able to take any major city. Harrisburg, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and, of course, Washington, will be defended to the utmost.”

“Could Lee continue on to Pittsburgh?”

Nathan shook his head. “I doubt it. It’s just too far into the North and too distant from any base of operations. If he were to move on Pittsburgh, his route south from there would be directly through West Virginia, where rebels are about as popular as the devil in church.”

“Then if it’s only a raid and Lincoln won’t negotiate, what’s in it for Great Britain?” she wondered.

“We must be realistic,” said Palmerston. Lord Russell nodded in reply. “We must not lose another army in North America.”

Russell yawned. “A bad habit that began with Burgoyne and continued with Cardigan. I think Napier is made of sterner stuff, don’t you?”

“Of course, but he doesn’t command. This Lee may be a bloody genius, but he is attacking a superior force led by a general who may or may not be his equal.”

Russell thought Palmerston’s comment was interesting. It was only a little while prior that the prime minister had called Grant a drunken street fighter. “Then why are we insisting on such an adventure?”

“Because it is the only way we can make the Union negotiate. As I have said so often, we must end the war soon. Our army is stretched beyond its limit and our navy is in danger of no longer being able to sustain a blockade thanks to the North’s damned ironclads.”

“And then there’s Ireland,” said Russell.

Palmerston groaned. “Dear God, what a mess. Along with this ridiculous Republic of New Ireland that Lincoln has permitted the Fenians to proclaim within the confines of Canada, we have the uproar of Sepoys enforcing the law in Ireland itself.”

Replacing British regulars who’d been shipped to Virginia, two regiments of Indian Sepoys had been installed as garrison troops in unruly Ireland, with more to follow. The move had been a disaster. The indigenous Irish population had been outraged at being ruled by dark-skinned men, and there had been serious rioting. Then, a few days after the riots had begun to subside, an Irish woman claimed she had been raped and her husband killed by Sepoys. True or not, the rioting was renewed with a fury and had become almost a full-blown rebellion, with many hundreds dead and wounded on each side. The Sepoys had been overwhelmed by the Irish mobs, with only a lucky few finding ships to take them to England. Many of the captured Sepoys had been lynched by Irish rebels. Worse, this meant that British regulars would have to retake a rebellious Ireland that was now armed with the weapons taken from the Sepoys.

Russell looked at him solemnly. “Yet I have heard that Lincoln will not negotiate an end to the war under any circumstances.” Palmerston grasped the arm of his chair until his knuckles showed white. “Then he’s a fool.”

“But a fool who will not give in. What then, Prime Minister?”

“If that unhappy chance should arise, we will deal with it. We will make plans,” Palmerston said. “Unwelcome and unpleasant plans, but plans nonetheless. A truly great power must know when to compromise.”

There was so much British shipping in the Chesapeake Bay-Hampton Roads area that several score transports and numerous small naval vessels were anchored well out of the James River. In some areas the congested anchorage was literally hull to hull with ships anchored and awaiting the return to England. They awaited convoys to form up for the journey when unloading was finished, which, since there were no major port facilities in the area, was stretching out from a time standpoint. Getting men and horses off the ships had been the first priority, and now the equipment and supplies were getting their turn. The work of unloading was proceeding, but with glacial slowness.

If any of the lookouts on either the Confederate shore batteries or the British picket ships noted the ugly, slow-moving steamship as she approached the clogged anchorage, they only gave her a cursory glance. The decrepit craft looked like she’d been through more than a few storms and was the product of sloppy care. Someone would later say he thought she looked like she’d been put together by a committee of drunks. At any rate, she was deemed harmless.

They were wrong.

The ugly duckling drew next to a group of British merchant ships that had been lashed together to permit ease of handling of their cargoes. A sailor on one looked at the strange steamer that was only about a hundred yards away and closing steadily. He paled. A large gun barrel showed from what looked like a pile of lumber on her deck.

He never got a chance to sound a warning. The gun roared, sending a shell through the thin hull of his ship as well as the one behind her. A second gun thundered and smashed into two more hulls. The concussion from the guns caused the flimsily built false deck and cargo to fall off the attacker. There, in the midst of Hampton Roads, stood a Union ironclad with the Stars and Stripes waving proudly from her stern.

It was the
Potomac,
and her twin turrets revolved like the eyes of some malevolent beast. There was nothing the British ships could do. They had no steam up and their sails were furled. Even if they wished to get under way, they couldn’t, as many had virtually all their crews on shore, drinking themselves blind in the taverns and whorehouses of Norfolk and Richmond. They were helpless as tethered lambs while the lion slowly prowled and selected its prey.