A Rainbow of Blood: The Union in Peril an Alternate History (40 page)

Paulet had reacted coolly to Hooker's breaking of his right. Wolseley admitted to himself that there was much to admire in the general's
imperturbability and his refusal to let his opponent control the initiative.
Paulet had simply pulled the flank back. Hooker had expected him to
throw in his reserve, but Paulet was keeping that for his own knockout
punch. Instead, Paulet ordered a general advance of his center and left,
two large brigades built around the Peacemakers of the 16th Foot and the
Rifles, over five thousand men supported by four Armstrong batteries.
On the open flank to the north, a half dozen troops of Canadian cavalry
were strung out.

The redcoat battalions swung out toward Claverack Creek in a
formation that would have done a parade for the sovereign credit. Over
their heads, the Armstrong gunners fired their shells to prepare the way.
From the other side, Brig. Gen. Alpheus Williams leaned forward in his
saddle to say to Hooker, "Prettiest parade I've ever seen. Though, truth
to tell, General, the Rebs were grander in their way in their big charge at
Gettysburg."

The men in the ranks were in awe of the sight but were able to give
it a cool, professional look. The bright array with the royal and regimental colors floating above each battalion was something they were not
used to with their gray and butternut enemies. On those fields, the only
colors were those "damned red flags of Rebellion," the square Stars and
Bars. Hooker walked his horse quietly behind the ranks of Williams's
infantry, listening for the comments.

"I thought they all wore red," one voice said. "Why are some of
them in green?"

"Getting ready for Christmas, I reckon," answered a wag.

A young man, his voice not all that sure, said, "I heard it's not
enough to kill the British infantry. You gotta knock'em down, too."

"Damned nice targets, sonny -that's all," one of the older men said,
and he punctuated it with a gooey wad of tobacco spat into the stubble.
The men within earshot all laughed.

Hooker smiled and rode on. He stopped at the next regiment, where
the men were on hended knee as one of them sang in a clear voice,

There was something about that calm devotion that cut to Hooker's
core. He had never been much for religion and had blasphemed mightily. Many had not forgotten how he had boasted before Chancellorsville
that not even God Almighty could save Lee from his power. But the God
of Battles had humbled him in his great pride. Then he did something
the old Hooker would have laughed at. He prayed, "Lord, abide with
me also."17

He then looked up at the scarlet and green host approaching and remembered another prayer, one Professor Dennis Hart Mahan had taught
them at West Point, an army commander's prayer if there ever was one.
Sir Jacob Hill had said it at the battle of Edgehill in the English Civil
War-"Oh Lord! Thou knowest how busy I must be this day: if I forget
Thee, do not Thou forget me. March on, boys!"18

His own artillery had opened up, and sudden black puffs of smoke
told where a shell had burst in the red ranks, sending bodies flying or
spinning to the earth. The ranks closed with fluid ease. And it just wasn't
the Imperial battalions. The Canadian battalions were their oldest and
best trained, and it showed. In the 1st Montreal Brigade marched the 1st Battalion, Prince of Wales Regiment, the 2nd Battalion, Queen's Own
Rifles of Toronto, and the Montreal Scots of the 5th Battalion, Royal Light
Infantry of Montreal, with their flank companies in plaid trews keeping
up smartly with their Imperial battalion, the 1/Rifles. To their left, in
the 2nd Montreal Brigade, the 3rd Battalion, Victoria Volunteer Rifles of
Montreal; the 4th Battalion, Chasseurs Canadiens; and the 6th Battalion
Hochelaga Light Infantry kept up the pace set by the Peacemakers of the
1/16 Foot. It was a magnificent fight-Imperial and colonial power and
pride, advancing across the creek, drums beating, lines clean and steady.
Little knots of scarlet and green-clad bodies marked their trail.

Lord Paulet rode along their front with his staff, his hat raised in
salute as he passed.

WASHINGTON NAVY YARD, WASHINGTON, D.C.,
11:10 Ann, OCTOBER 28, 1863

Lowe and Cushing had spent the last two hours as silent observers of
the ongoing struggle for Washington. Smoke from the burning Arsenal
floated downriver and over to the Maryland shore. Both their shells and
reachable targets were exhausted. The remaining British sloop, Greyhound, kept well out from the balloon's shadow, which did not keep her
Marines from taking an occasional potshot. The bullets had passed with
little effect through the wickerwork basket, but had holed the balloon in
a number of places. Miraculously, neither of them had been hit, though
Lowe had lost a boot heel to a bullet. The loss of lift was slow, but it was
inexorably carrying them lower and lower. The largest weight they had
aboard were the boxes of hand grenades. He could have tossed them
over the side to counter the loss of gas, but something stayed his hand.

In the meantime, their attention was drawn to the fighting to the
south as the Royal Marine battalion made its way through the streets
to the Navy Yard. The American Marines and armed sailors were outnumbered more than three to one but fought a stubborn retreat house
by house. But a retreat it still was as the British pressed them closer and
closer to the Yard. It appeared that what the ships of the Royal Navy
could not achieve from the river, her Marines would do by land. Already
several of the largest buildings in the Yard were ablaze. The huge wooden dry dock sent a massive pillar of fire and smoke into the sky to add
to the many churning up from the stricken Arsenal and the general pall
from the burning city. The roof of one of the great brick foundry buildings was also burning, dropping flaming timbers and shingles several stories to the floor of the interior. In the water near the dock, the remains
of Spiteful burned as well. The smoke swirled up thick around the balloon. At times it hid the chaos on the ground.'

The battle pushed down M Street past the Yard's brick walls to its
turreted entrance gate, littering its way with blue- and red-clad bodies.
The Americans made their stand around the gate. Lowe lost sight of
them by that time; the descending balloon no longer gave him the height
to see over the walls at the fighting on the other side, though the red of
the enemy was evident in some of the surrounding buildings. Lowe had
decided to signal his ground crew to haul them down-at least they
could join the fight on the ground-when he felt the breeze pick up and
begin to shift. It pulled the balloon slowly south from over the water to
drift over the Yard as it swung on its four heavy cables. With the wind
strong to the south, the balloon crossed the Yard wall to hover over M
Street. Lowe scribbled a note, put it in a weighted metal message cylinder, tied it to a colored streamer, and threw it inside the gate. It struck
the ground directly in front of a sailor who was standing ready with a
rifle should the gate be forced. The man looked up to see Lowe leaning
over the side of the basket waving frantically. He picked the case up,
opened it, and read. Suddenly, he ran to an officer and handed it to him.
Here was a great advantage over the British. The vast majority of men
in the American services could read. The officer handed it back to the
sailor, who dashed off down the street in the direction of where Lowe's
ground crew worked the great windlasses that controlled the four cables
holding the balloon fast.

The balloon continued to leak, bringing them downward so gradually that there seemed to be no danger. At the normal height of one
thousand feet, men assumed the size of ants. At five hundred feet, they
were only miniature humans. The fighting was clearly desperate. The
Americans had been forced back to the main gate and were fighting from
an arc around it. As much as the gate looked like a castle, it was all for
appearance and had no fighting battlements. The gate had to be defended from the front. Bodies were piling up as the ring of defenders shrank
back while the enemy drew closer, concentrating their fire on a smaller
and smaller group.