Stars & Stripes Forever (3 page)

"Stands is indeed the correct word. An army which drills and drills and gets more troops—and goes absolutely nowhere at a glacial speed."

"Perfectly true. This war seems to have ground to a halt. It has been six months since the Rebels captured FortSumter and hostilities began. Since then only the success of the blockading squadrons gives me cheer. This year began with feelings of enmity and apprehension. We are building our army—and the Secessionists are doing the same. Since the battles of Bull Run and Ball's Bluff there have only been minor skirmishes. Yet the tension continues to build. This war will not end easily and I fear the dreadful battles that are sure to come." He looked up as the office door opened.

"Mr. President, I'm sorry to interrupt you," his other secretary, John Nicolay, said. "But the Secretary of the Navy is here."

Abraham Lincoln was tired, very tired. The papers on his desk and filling its pigeonholes multiplied daily. For every problem that was resolved two more seemed to spring up in its place. He had rested his hand on his head, and his long fingers were heedlessly rumpling his hair. He was glad of the distraction. "It's no interruption, John. Send him through."

"And the reports are here that you asked for—as well as these letters for you to sign."

Lincoln sighed and pointed at the cluttered pigeonholes in the tall desk. "In with the rest, Nico, and I promise that they shall have my attention."

He stood and stretched wearily, shuffling past the stern portrait of Andrew Jackson and over to the marble fireplace. He had his coattails lifted and was warming himself before the fire when Hay left and Secretary Welles came in; the President pointed at the paper he was carrying.

"I imagine that is a dispatch of some importance that you are holding in your hand," Lincoln said.

Gideon Welles, the Secretary of the Navy, hid a shrewd brain behind his abundant chin whiskers and exotic wig. "Some exciting and interesting news has just arrived by military telegraph from Hampton Roads." He started to pass over the sheet of paper but Lincoln held up a halting hand.

"Please then, tell me about it and save my weary eyes."

"Simple enough to do, Mr. President. The screw sloop
San Jacinto
stopped in the port at Hampton Roads to refuel and the captain sent this message. They have Mason and Slidell aboard."

"Now that is the kind of good news that is pretty rare around here." The battered maplewood armchair creaked as Lincoln settled into it and leaned back, tenting his long fingers together. "I do believe that we will all sleep the better these nights with the knowledge that those two are not conspiring right across Europe, causing fierce kinds of mischief."

"I'm afraid that the situation is not all that simple. As you know, since they escaped from the South and ran the blockade in the
Gordon,
they have been one step ahead of us all of the way. First in the Bahamas, then in Cuba. We have had a small fleet of ships tracking them down."

"And now they have succeeded."

"Indeed they have. However there is a complication. The rebels were not arrested on land, or taken from a Confederate vessel. That would have been perfectly legal during the present state of war. It appears however that they were taken from a British mail packet, the
Trent.
Which was stopped at sea."

Lincoln thought deeply about this, then sighed. Like dragon's teeth his troubles did multiply. "We must send for Seward. The Secretary of State will want to know about this at once. But how could this happen? Weren't there orders issued about halting neutral ships at sea?"

"There were. But the captain of the
San Jacinto
never received them—and it appears that he had different orders altogether. He has been at sea some time and was supposed to return with his ship from Fernando Po, bring it to the navy yard. Nothing more. He must have heard of the chase when he returned and refueled. Since then he has proceeded on his own."

"It shows an independence of spirit—though perhaps a bit misplaced."

"Yes. I am given to understand that Captain Wilkes has a very independent spirit. In fact some in the navy call it insubordination and bad temper."

The door opened and Seward came in.

"Read this, William," the President said. "Then we will decide what must be done."

The Secretary of State quickly scanned the dispatch, frowning as he did so. Always a cautious man, and one not given to precipitate decisions, he read it again, more slowly this time. Then tapped it with his index finger.

"Two things strike me at once. Firstly these traitors must be secured safely under lock and key. We have them now and we do not want to lose them. I suggest, Gideon, that you telegraph the
San Jacinto's
commander that as soon as his vessel has refueled he is to proceed at once to New York City. Further instructions will await him there."

Lincoln nodded. "I agree. While he is making his passage we can give serious thought as to what we should do with these men now that we have them in our hands."

"I am in complete agreement as well," Welles said, then hurried to give the order.

There was a sudden loud barking from under the President's desk and Welles started. Lincoln smiled at him.

"Have no fear—this dog does not bite," he said as the boy burst from his hiding place, grinning from ear to ear as he hugged his father's long legs.

"Our Willie is a great lad," Lincoln said as the boy ran happily from the room. "Some day he will be a great man—I feel that in my bones." His smile faded away. "But those same bones are feeling a certain disquiet over this
Trent
affair." The President's first pleasure at hearing the news now gave way to a feeling of dark premonition. "I can well imagine what your second consideration is going to be. What repercussions must we look forward to when word reaches London? Our friends the British are already bothered about this war of rebellion, as they tell us quite often."

"That was indeed my very thought. Troubles will have to be faced as they arise. But at least we have the rebel troublemakers now."

"We do indeed. Two birds in the hand. I imagine that diplomatic complaints and discussions will proceed at their usual snail-like pace. Protests carried across the Atlantic by ship, responses sent back by even slower ones. Diplomacy always takes time. Perhaps if enough time passes with questions and answers and replies, why the matter might soon be forgotten."

"I pray that you are correct, Mr. President. But as you are well aware there is already much agitation among the British about the present conflict. They side with the rebellious states and bitterly resent the disruption in cotton shipments caused by our blockade. There are reports that some Lancashire mills are closing. I am afraid that this country of ours is not very popular at this time, in Britain, or even elsewhere on the continent."

"There are a lot worse things on the earth than not being popular. Like the story about the rabbit who got angry at the old hounddog and he went and got all the other rabbits to get together with him and give the hounddog a good hiding. Not that the hounddog minded—he hadn't et that well in years."

"The English are not rabbits, Mr. Lincoln."

"Indeed they are not. But this particular old hounddog is going to worry about trouble only when it comes. Meanwhile two very painful thorns have been removed from our hide. We must now find a secure container to put them in, lock them away out of sight and then, hopefully, forget all about them. Perhaps this entire matter might blow over and be forgotten as well."

"God blast and damn every one of those poxy Yankees!"

Lord Palmerston, the Prime Minister of Britain, stamped the length of his office, then back again. The dispatch from Southampton was lying on his desk. He seized it up and read it again; his large nostrils flared with rage, big as cannon muzzles. His lordship's temper was not very good at the best of times; now it was fully on the boil. Lord John Russell just sat quietly and waited, preferring not to be noticed. Alas, this was not to be.

Lord Palmerston crumpled the sheet, hurled it from him, turned on Russell and stabbed out a finger that trembled with rage. "You are the Foreign Minister, which means that this matter is your responsibility. Now, sir—what do you intend to do about it?"

"Protest, of course. My secretary is already preparing a draft. I will then consult with you—"

"Not bloody good enough. Give those rebellious Yankees an inch and they'll want an ell. What we must do is get them by the scruff and give them a sound shaking. Like a terrier with a rat. This has been an infamous deed that must be answered instantly—and with great firmness. I shall remove you of the responsibility and shall take care of this matter myself. It is my firm intention to get off a dispatch that will blow the Yankees right out of the water."

"I am sure that there are precedents, sir. And then we must consult with the Queen..."

"Damn the precedents and—of course, yes, we surely must bring this matter to the attention of the Queen. Though I dread the thought of another meeting with her so soon. The last time I was at BuckinghamPalace she was in the middle of one of those screaming fits, flying through the corridors. At least this nasty bit of news will draw her attention. But I am sure that she will be even more than outraged about this than we are, doesn't like those Americans at all."

"There would be no need to meet with the Queen if we were more circumspect. Perhaps it would not be so wise as to fire all of our batteries at once at the Yankees? There is a case to be made that we first go through the correct channels. Begin with a protest, then a reply. Then if they don't accede to our polite requests we forget all kindness and sweet reason. We stop asking them. We tell them what they must do."

"Perhaps, perhaps," Palmerston muttered. "I will take that under consideration when the cabinet convenes. It has become imperative that we have a cabinet meeting at once."

The secretary knocked lightly, then came in.

"Admiral Milne, sir. He would like to know if he could see you."

"Of course, show him in."

Lord Palmerston stood and took the admiral's hand when he entered. "I imagine that this is no courtesy call, Admiral?"

"Hardly, sir. May I sit?"

"Of course. The wound—?"

"Well healed, but I'm still not as strong as I should be." He sat and came straight to the point. "I have been too long on the shore, gentlemen. This sudden development has forcefully reminded me of that fact."

"The
Trent!"
Russell said.

"The
Trent
indeed! A ship flying British colors—stopped at sea by an alien warship... words do fail me."

"Not I sir, not I!" Palmerston's anger surged again. "I see this action through your eyes and understand your passion. You have fought honorably for your country, have been wounded in her service in China. You are an Admiral of the Fleet in the most powerful navy the world has ever seen. And this matter, I know how you must feel..."

Milne had found his words now, shook with anger as they tumbled out. "Humiliation, Your Lordship. Humiliation and rage. Those raggle-taggle colonists must be taught a lesson. They cannot fire on a British ship, a Royal Mail packet by God, and not face the consequences of this despicable act."

"What do you think the consequences should be?" Palmerston asked.

"That is not for me to say. It is for you gentlemen to decide the proper course to take in these matters. But I want you to know that every manjack in the Royal Navy is behind you, every foot of the way."

"You feel they share your outrage?"

"Not feel—
know!
From the lowest matelot on the gun deck to the highest rank in the admiralty there will be disgust and anger. And the keen desire to follow where you lead."

Palmerston nodded slowly. "Thank you, Admiral for your frankness. You have given new fiber to our determination. The Cabinet will meet at once. Be assured that action will be taken this very day. And I am sure that your return to active service will be appreciated and your offer accepted."

"There is an officer from the
Trent
here, sir," the secretary said as soon as the admiral had been ushered out. "He is seeking instruction as to the dispersal of certain documents he is holding."

"What documents?"

"It seems that he took under his care all of the papers and documents that Messrs Mason and Slidell wished to conceal from the American government. They were safely concealed and now he wishes instruction as to their disposal."

"Capital! Have them in and we shall see just why the Yankees were in such a hurry to nobble these two men."

As the
San Jacinto
steamed north toward New York City the weather deteriorated. Captain Wilkes stood on the weather deck, rain lashing against his oilskins. The sea was getting up and there was snow now mixed in with the rain. He turned as Lieutenant Fairfax came out on deck.

"Engineer reports that we are taking in some water, sir. Seams working in this cross sea."

"Pumps holding?"

"Very well, Captain. But he wants to reduce the revolutions to ease the strain on the hull. This ship has seen a lot of service."

"Indeed she has. All right, 80 revolutions—but no less than that. Our orders are quite explicit."

At the slower speed the leaking abated so much that the pumping could be stopped for a few minutes so that the water level could be sounded in the well. There proved to have been a great improvement. Nevertheless the wind was getting up and the
San Jacinto
rolled heavily. It was not a comfortable voyage. By the time she arrived in New York visibility was almost zero in the blinding snowstorm, now mixed with lashing hail. Her arrival had been expected and she was met by a tugboat in the Narrows.

His face buried in the collar of his greatcoat, Captain Wilkes watched from the bridge. Lines were thrown and the tug was secured to their side. Two uniformed men climbed the rope ladder with some difficulty, then waited on deck as their leather bags were passed up to them. Lieutenant Fairfax reported to the bridge.