A Rainbow of Blood: The Union in Peril an Alternate History (15 page)

Brig. Gen. Neal Dow roamed the ruins, trailing a small staff. He
commanded the garrison of the city that had stood grim siege for ten
days. He knew it as a man knew his own backyard. A famous teetotaler,
he had turned the city dry as mayor and put down the ensuing Portland
Rum Riots with a heavy hand. Now all was forgiven as he breathed
combative life into the garrison and gave stout heart to the population.
He had led the Maine regiments of the Army of the Potomac back to
recruit after the bloodletting of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, a ploy
of George Sharpe to quietly strengthen the vital port as Britain and the
Union paused before lunging at each other. The Maine men had arrived
just in time to thwart a British coup de main against the city. Dow had led the attack that had broken the British landing on the docks while Col.
Joshua Chamberlain had beat back the landward attack.

The city's suffering had only begun. The British had turned Fort
Gorges's heavy guns on the docks and warehouses, first while the Royal
Navy's ships steamed around the Portland peninsula adding the fire of
their guns. The British normally would not have fired on a defenseless
port, and indeed the British naval officer who had fired on the railroad
station was eventually relieved for violations of the customs of civilized
warfare. But once Dow decided to defend the city, it became fair game.
The British division was reinforced with heavy guns from the defenses of
Halifax, and these pounded the landward defenses of the city. Already
a quarter of Portland was in ruins, its population, save for able-bodied
men in the militia and those with other vital skills, huddled in their cellars. At least they had not gone hungry. Portland was the port used to
export the grain harvest of the Canadas, and most of it was in the city
where it was being milled before being shipped to Britain. The city's bakeries produced bread and hardtack around the clock. They did not want
for fuel either since the winter supply for the city had been laid in, and
ruined buildings provided even more.

Dow had made good use of the ruins, organizing the men of the city
to pile up the rubble along the waterfront as a barricade and blocking
every street facing the hay and walling up every ground floor window.
The Portlanders had responded to every demand with stoic determination. They now proudly referred to their city as Fortress Portland and
took great pride that it was the sons of Maine and their own militia who
manned the barricades and entrenchments.

The pounding was relentless that afternoon. The people huddling in
their cellars felt the waves of concussion and watched as the dust drifted
down through the floorboards from the broken floors above. Dow had
climbed up a broken wall to gain a better vantage ignoring the pleas of
his staff, "Get down, sir! Please, get down!"

They saw the guns on the big frigate in the harbor ripple with fire.
The wall simply disintegrated as several 68-pound shot struck it. Dow
was thrown off like a rag doll and buried as the broken brick cascaded
down on him.

With Dow dead, command of the town fell upon Chamberlain's
shoulders. By the tenth, he had not slept or changed his clothes for what seemed like an eternity. His clothes stank of burning, which at least covered up worse. The roar of the guns had become such a constant that
he was instantly aware when the silence announced itself. They had
stopped. It was not just a rare coincidence of timing. The silence went
on. The reason was explained in short order when a messenger from the
landward defenses reported that the British drummers were beating for
parley, and an officer had come over under flag of truce with a formal
request.

Maj. Gen. Sir Charles Hastings Doyle was requesting a meeting
with the American commander. The commander of British forces in the
Maritime Provinces since 1860, and now commanding the twelve thousand British and Canadian troops of the Portland Field Force, did not
much like Americans. He had been a strong advocate of the occupation
of Maine during the Trent Affair. It was Portland's misfortune to have
him in command. This veteran of the Crimean War and former inspector
of militia in Ireland was an able and intelligent soldier with a reputation
for fairness and integrity. The energy with which he conducted the siege
was proof of that, as was his ability to integrate the new Canadian militia
battalions with the Imperial battalions 18

Chamberlain accepted, desperate for some opening or at least some
information. The British had sealed up Portland as tight as a drum. But
first he had his uniform brushed thoroughly while the best barber in the
city ran the keenest razor he had ever felt over his blond stubble. After
the barber removed the hot towel, he ran his hand over his face, allowing
himself the momentary luxury of the smooth feel of a really close shave.

The American drummer beat parley, and Chamberlain and escort
rode through a gap in the line. Almost immediately a British party left
its own lines. Chamberlain thought that the British knew how to put
on a military show in this sort of thing. He had made sure that his color
bearer and escort were all from his own 20th Maine and were shaved
and cleaned up. Maj. Ellis Spear, acting commander of 20th Maine, was
his deputy.

The two parties stopped twenty yards apart as the two commanders rode forward accompanied only by a color bearer and a single escort.
Doyle and Chamberlain rode alongside each other, exchanged salutes,
and introduced themselves. Then Chamberlain pulled off his gauntlet
and offered his hand. Doyle was taken aback. English gentlemen found this American custom of shaking hands to be mildly distasteful, but
he believed that a gentleman never unwittingly gave offense. He took
Chamberlain's hand.

He was the first to speak, appropriately enough as he had called for
the parley. "General, may I offer my admiration for the gallant defense of
the city."

It was Chamberlain's turn to be taken aback. "I appreciate the compliment, Sir Charles, but my rank is that of colonel."

Doyle smiled, "Well, sir, let me be the bearer of happy news from
one soldier to another. Your newspapers have reported that Mr. Lincoln
has promoted you major general of volunteers." The surprise on Chamberlain's face revealed this was certainly news to him. Doyle was pleased
to he gracious, for being a general transcends nationality, but was even
more pleased to discover how completely cut off Portland was if this
week-old news had not penetrated. That could be a weapon in his hand
if used well. It was a godsend that this American did not know that the
powerful VI Corps led by the able Maj. Gen. John Sedgwick was detraining just over the state border to the south to march directly to the relief
of Portland. With just the right approach, he might be able to convince
Chamberlain to surrender before he had to march away either to abandon the siege or to leave just enough force behind to maintain the siege
and meet Sedgwick well short of Portland. It would not do to leave a fortress in his rear with an able and aggressive commander 19

Doyle then said, "But, my dear general, duty requires me to lay soldierly courtesies aside. I appeal to you to surrender the city for the sake
of humanity, to relieve the civilian population of their distress."

Chamberlain replied, "I assure you, Sir Charles, that the good people of Portland are snug in their cellars and well fed on good Canadian
bread." He then threw back the offer. "But I am surprised at your concern for humanity when the Royal Navy fired upon a defenseless city in
the dead of night without provocation. It was an outrage of the civilized
conduct of war, Sir Charles."

Doyle would admit only to himself that the American was correct.
The Navy had cocked that up badly. It does not do to put a vengeful
spirit into your enemy. Talleyrand had put it well. It was worse than a
crime; it was a mistake.

Ignoring the issue, Doyle then played upon the hopelessness of the
garrison's position. "I assure you, sir, your government has far more to worry about than this one city. As you have been so obviously cut off
from the blows which Her Majesty's armed forces have inflicted on your
country, it is my sad duty to inform you. The British Army has taken
Albany and put the entire Hudson Valley under contribution. New York
City will fall within a fortnight. The Royal Navy has driven your fleet
from its blockading stations along the coast of the Confederacy and has,
in turn, blockaded your own coasts from Portland to the Chesapeake."

He glossed over the destruction of the British squadron at Charleston at the hands of Adm. John Dahlgren's South Atlantic Blockading
Squadron. It sounded better with a selective choice of facts. Despite
the tactical victory, the Americans had suffered a strategic defeat with
the loss of their main forward operating base at Port Royal. Unable to
sustain their blockading squadrons, they had withdrawn them to Norfolk. British ships stuffed with war material had flooded into the now
open Confederate ports. Charleston harbor rode with a hundred masts,
as its white gold stored for just such an event replaced the military cargos.

The obvious relish with which Doyle delivered the had news only
seemed to make Chamberlain more obdurate. His eyes narrowed as he
said through clenched teeth. "I will fight you to the last cartridge from
the last ruined house with the last man. Your trophy will be a corpsestrewn ruin." It was a bold front. He had acted as if his ammunition was
in good supply when his men were down to barely a dozen cartridges a
man and the artillery down to even fewer than a half a dozen rounds per
gun. There was plenty of ammunition for the big guns at Fort Gorges,
but the British held that granite pile in a tight grip .21

In the end, it was Chamberlain's bluff that mattered. The parley
ended with his final refusal to consider surrender. Doyle was left with
only the choice of had options. He simply could not abandon the siege,
and he could not allow Sedgwick to get within striking range to trap him
against the garrison of Portland. He could only hope to steal away with
enough men to beat Sedgwick and then rush back before Chamberlain
noticed he was gone. That would be asking a lot.21

BOSTON ATLANTIC WORKS SHIPYARD, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS,
2.00 PM, OCTOBER 21, 1863

W. L. Hanscom was a naval constructor and not a very happy one. The
new light draft monitor, USS Chimo, rode in the water with only part of her coal and none of her ammunition on board. Fully loaded, she was
supposed to have fifteen inches of freeboard. Hanscom had just finished
measuring the ship. She rode with barely seven inches of freeboard at the
bow, and the stern was actually an inch under water. His report would
read "adding the ammunition would have made her deck level with the
water or submerged it. Only the arched portion of the deck along the
ship's fore and aft centerline would have been out of the water-'rather
a small margin for a man to go to sea with. 11122 A deadly understatement,
indeed.

For the Navy's chief engineer, Alban Crocker Stimers, general inspector of ironclads, the news would fulfill his growing fears that had
accumulated with sickening regularity for the last six months. Another
ship of this shallow-draft monitor Casco class, the class namesake, would
slide into the water with the same glaring result as Chimo. The builders
could not be blamed.

Officially, Stimers reported to Rear Adm. Francis Hoyt Gregory,
general superintendent of ironclads, but everything having to do with
the actual construction of the ironclads was his responsibility, and now
he was trying desperately to think how to shirk it. Stimers was a practical engineer and had not avoided getting his hands dirty in learning his
trade. His career had ridden high with the ironclad monitors, the children of genius inventor John Ericsson. He had supervised the construction of the revolutionary turret of the experimental USS Monitor and accompanied her on her voyage to immortality at Hampton Roads.

Time and again, the ship was threatened with disaster during the
voyage. Heavy seas poured water through the ventilators, which were
only six feet above the water, soaking the leather drive belts for the ventilators. The belts snapped, and the ventilators quit, cutting off the intake
of fresh air. Quickly, engine fumes poisoned the air. Stimers led the engineering department into the engine room. Men dropped from the fumes
as Stimers worked heroically to restart the ventilators, finally coaxing
them back into haphazard operation.23

Just before the battle, the ship's engineer discovered that the pony
wheel for the engine that operated the turret was rusted tight and
could not be freed. Stimers, who had spent his youth turning wrenches,
stepped forward and freed it. During the battle with its Confederate ironclad nemesis, CSS Virginia, Stimers had operated the turret and then
the gunnery division when the executive officer had to assume command after the wounding of the captain. When the turret had frozen, he
had freed it again by the main force of his powerful body. It was extraordinary combat achievement for an engineer to execute such operational
responsibility, and he had come under the eye of Assistant Secretary of
the Navy Gustavus "Gus" Fox, an observer of the battle.24

His stock had ridden high after the battle, and he found himself
brought to Washington to supervise the construction of the new ships
being built on the Monitor model and its product improvements. He
quickly became a disciple of Ericsson's, and a triumvirate of Ericsson, Fox, and Stimers emerged dedicated to rapid production of new
monitors of improved classes. The first such were the ten ships of the
Ericsson-designed Passaic class. They were considerable improvements
over the original Monitor and were constructed and delivered in record
time. They had been the heart of Admiral Dahlgren's victorious battle
line at Charleston. Stimers accompanied the first group of Passaics to join
the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron's attack on Fort Sumter in April
1863 and stayed on to supervise their repair. By then he fully deserved
the reputation as the Navy's "Mr. Ironclad."