Britannia's Fist: From Civil War to World War: An Alternate History (11 page)

Of equal interest and the obvious reason for Captain Hancock’s flimsy cover story was Wolseley’s notoriety. Out of boredom apparently, he and another officer had taken leave to see the war among the Americans. They had drawn straws to see which side each would visit. Wolseley had drawn the South. He had slipped through the Union pickets and across the Rappahannock River to Fredericksburg and on to Richmond, where he was received at the highest levels and given handsome letters of introduction to Lee. The visit developed into an unabashed case of outright hero worship. For the rest of his life, he would hold Lee as the absolute paragon and say in his later years, “I have met two men whom I prized above all the world I have ever known, and the greater of these two was General Lee.” The other was the British general Charles “Chinese” Gordon, who would perish gloriously at Khartoum a generation later.
¹⁶

Wolseley’s visit to Lee might have gone unnoticed save for the article he wrote for
Blackwood’s Magazine
that received much notice not
only in Britain but also in the States. It had given astute professional insight into the Army of Northern Virginia. His opinion was that he never saw an army composed of men who “looked more like work” than this one.
¹⁷
The contrast with their ragged condition could not have been starker in the eyes of an officer from an army of sartorial splendor. In a review held of Hood’s Texas Division for his benefit, Wolseley was shocked to see so many trousers worn out at the bottom as the ranks passed. Noticing his surprise, Lee remarked, “Never mind the raggedness, Colonel. The enemy never sees the back of my Texas Brigade.” Sharpe could appreciate that because he had helped the Army of the Potomac prove Lee wrong at Gettysburg.

Wolseley’s escapade might have created less controversy had he not offered good reasons for a British alliance in order to safeguard Her Majesty’s possessions in North America. His statement that a defeated North could not attack Canada if threatened by Britain’s Confederate ally won him no thanks in the Union.

With all this in mind, Sharpe was most interested in what Wolseley was doing back in the United States. Wolseley seemed most interested in Sharpe’s experience at Gettysburg and his opinion of the battle. It was a safe subject to draw him out on, and Sharpe steered the discussion to the conduct of the battle in general. Wolseley’s disappointment in the outcome of the battle was clear. He could not believe Lee had blundered and kept quizzing Sharpe to discover some explanation that would exculpate his hero. Nonetheless, Sharpe had to admit that his questions were penetrating and his comments insightful. This was a man who knew the business of soldiering.

Wolseley snorted in contempt when Sharpe described the moving scene of the Irish Brigade kneeling to receive the benediction of Father William Corby, who blessed their heroic charge. He evidently assumed that Sharpe’s name put his ancestors on the Anglo-Saxon side of the Irish Sea. Wolseley asked, “Are you by chance related to Col. Richard Sharpe of the 95th Rifles?”

Sharpe saw no reason to tell him that it was the Anglicized form of the German Sherfe. “Not that I know of. My people have been in this country for almost two hundred years. I’m afraid I am not familiar with that officer.”

Woolsey was clearly disappointed. “Why, Richard Sharpe was one of Wellington’s favorite officers, risen from the ranks for gallantry, and a very prolific killer of Frenchmen, I might add.” It was evident that the
latter quality was high on Wolseley’s list of martial virtues.
¹⁸
But the subject of the Sharpe family name had only diverted him from this Gaelic distaste. “And as for the Irish, my dear Colonel, they are an ugly race with noses so cut away that you can see the place where their brains should be.”
¹⁹

Sharpe had to control himself as he thought of all the Irish boys in his regiment from Kingston who had fallen on that field as well as the daring and courage of his scouts, the Carney brothers, and young Martin Hogan just three years off the boat. Instead, he smiled blandly, “Well, sir, they don’t always present themselves to best effect. But I would think that a country that has made such use of the Irish in the building of its empire could be a bit more charitable.”

Wolseley brushed off the olive branch and went on, “They are a strange, illogical, inaccurate race, with the most amiable qualities, garnished with the dirt and squalor which they seem to love as dearly as their religion. I tell you, the Irishman soon takes his hat off when he finds a master who is not afraid of him and who is always ready to tackle him.”
²⁰

When Wolseley had decided that he had chewed on that scrap of bile long enough, he asked, “Well, Colonel, what is the feeling in the Army now that the South has been set back on both heels—Gettysburg and Vicksburg?”

Sharpe considered that an honest answer would actually be the most useful. “It is only a matter of time. The South is exhausted and devouring itself to supply its armies just as the Union’s strength is redoubling. If it weren’t for blockade-runners bringing in British weapons and munitions, they would collapse in a month or two. All your country is doing is to prolong the struggle. Who knows what unforeseen incident could provoke another Trent Affair? Everyone knows that we came too close to war that time. It would serve no one’s interest to come that close again. I do not even mention the mutual catastrophe that a war would entail. British entry on the side of the Confederacy would only earn it the undying enmity of the United States but fail in the long run to secure independence for the South. Do you really want to create an enemy that for the next one hundred years searches out every enemy of the British Empire to make common cause?”

Wolseley fixed him with that single, hard, blue eye as the waiter cleared the table, “But you can hardly hold the support of your own population to continue the war. I understand there is extremely powerful,
popular opposition. How then could you add the burden of a war with a great power,” he paused to add, “such as France? Forgive me for my bluntness, but you would go to pieces at the first blow.”

Sharpe just smiled, “A war with a,” he paused to emphasize the object of this preposition, “
major foreign power such as France
would kindle a fire that would weld our people into an implacable unity. Make no mistake of it.”

Sharpe let his message sink in. He had not been empowered by the government to speak at this level, but there was no time to ask, and he did not think that Seward would mind. He would report to Dana tomorrow on their interesting conversation. The silence continued until the waiter returned with a box of cigars and brandy, which immediately deflected the conversation. The Ebbitt offered an excellent array of cigars. Sharpe did not remark on how such fine Southern tobacco was so readily available in the Union’s capital. It was an embarrassment how badly the blockade leaked, not to mention overland trade, something his companions were no doubt aware of.

Sharpe coolly blew a ring across the table. “I must apologize for my bluntness, gentlemen. Please, forgive a simple colonel of infantry for a lack of subtly.” Perhaps that was laying it on too thick. Time to change the subject. “Tell me, Captain, what of the French? What does your government think of the French adventure in Mexico?”

Hancock had taken little part in the conversation concerning Army matters, but now he had something to say. “I would say that the British government considers Napoleon’s ambitions to be a measure of Gallic excess. Mexico is no place to stay. You Americans were clever to win quickly, take what you wanted, and get out. Your example was lost on the French, I’m afraid.”

“And you are not worried about the expansion of the French Navy?” That was fresh meat thrown to Hancock.

“By God, sir, afraid of the French? You do have a strange, Yankee sense of humor.”

“But the French
Gloire
class ironclads did steal a march on the Royal Navy in ’59, did it not?” Sharpe spoke in French. Hancock, not to be outdone, also switched, showing a remarkable grasp of French military terminology.

“Yes, I’m afraid the French were the first to build a serious ironclad, but they were following the example of the British ironclad batteries in the Russian War of the last decade. But our
Warrior
class put the
French right where they belong—in second place. The HMS
Warrior
and her sister-ship,
Black Prince
, were designed and built in record time. They are so superior to the French ships that there is no comparison. The
Warriors
are completely iron ships while the
Gloires
are wooden hulls with only ironclad casements.
Warriors
are almost 65 percent larger and are meant for open-ocean sailing whereas the Frenchies would have a hard go of it anywhere but the Channel and the Mediterranean. Our armament is clearly superior as well with twenty-six 68-pounders, four 70-pounders, and eleven breech-loading rifled 110-pounders of Mr. Armstrong’s manufacture against the French thirty-six 6.4-inch rifled guns. All the British guns are superior as is our powder, the best the world.”
²¹

Sharpe thought that Admiral Dahlgren might disagree. He was not known as “the father of American naval ordnance” for nothing. His series of Dahlgren guns at IX, X, XI, and XV inches were considered by us to be the best in the world. The Royal Navy had tried to buy Dalgreen guns in large numbers, but the United States had declined to share such an advantage.

Hancock continued, “There is another area in which we completely outclass the French—no private French foundry can roll the armor necessary for such a ship; a number of British establishments can do that with ease. The French simply do not have the iron industry to support Napoleon’s ambitions of an ironclad fleet.”

Hancock’s tail was up as he listed every point of British naval superiority over the French, which had the unspoken message that that superiority applied to the United States as well. “Why, sir, if these facts do not impress you, perhaps the words of Mr. Dickens might give a more poetic impression. He said after a recent visit to the
Warrior
that she was, and I quote, ‘A black vicious ugly customer as ever I saw, whale-like in size, and with as terrible a row of incisor teeth as ever closed on a French frigate.’ Another gentleman described her as ‘a black snake among rabbits.’ Having seen her myself, I can attest that the Mr. Dickens has caught its menace most properly.”

Sharpe was enjoying the class on British naval technology, all grist for his intelligence mill. He had concentrated so much on the Confederate Army that it was refreshing to learn about the service of another country. He had scrupulously forwarded every bit of naval intelligence that came his way to the Navy and had learned something by way of it. He prodded Hancock further. “And our ironclads?”

“Why, sir, they are interesting designs, to be sure, but are dwarfed by the
Warriors
. Your
Passaic
class monitors have, indeed, proved to be a gallant, hard-fighting class but weigh in at 1,335 tons to the
Warrior
’s 9,210, and only two guns to forty. I wager that none of them would fare well in an open-ocean voyage either.”

“I’m afraid you have me, Captain. I’m just a soldier and no naval expert.”

Wolseley had been following all this carefully. His good eye widened a bit.
²²

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

What Lincoln cared about was winning the war. He may have been a lawyer from the Prairie State, but he had an instinctive appreciation for the budding technologies of the new and vigorous industrial age. He found the Army and Navy departments hopelessly mired in their own red tape at the expense of innovation. It was as if both services had missed the business revolution that had accompanied the Industrial Revolution. Once he was presented with a committee report on a new naval gun. He glanced at the report that had consumed an entire tree’s worth of paper and exclaimed, “I should want a new lease of life to read this through.” He hurled it on the table. “Why can’t a committee of this kind occasionally exhibit a grain of common sense? If I send a man to buy a horse for me, I expect him to tell me his
points
—not how many
hairs
there are in his tail.”
¹

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

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

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