“Well, Mr. President, let me just say that this will go some way to helping you with your arithmetic problem.”
Fox then introduced a little Frenchman whose naturalization papers Lincoln had signed himself only a few days ago. The Frenchman bowed deeply as Lincoln climbed out of the carriage, “Monsieur le President, it is un grande honeur to welcome you.”
Lincoln just extended his hand. “So this is the prophet without honor in his own country, or, I must correct myself, his old country.” Brutus de Villerois just beamed. The French Navy’s rejection of his boat had sent him to the United States in time to build a salvage version in Philadelphia just as the war broke out. The police had promptly arrested him as his boat surfaced on the river, but the Navy had immediately seen its potential and gave him a contract to build a naval version. Thus was born the USS Alligator, the first successful submersible warship in the world. It had more than proved itself at the battle of Charleston when it sank a British frigate with a spar torpedo. Now the Navy could not build enough of them.
Fox knew that Lincoln was like a child in a toy store when it came to the mechanical inventions of war, and no man was a greater booster of the advantages that came with such skill. He led Lincoln to a large brick shed past more Marine guards. The interior was one vast assembly hall. A row of de Villeroi’s children lay in various stages of construction. Lincoln counted them though he had already known there were five with another class planned. While the original Alligator had taken refuge at the Norfolk Navy Yard, its captain had been summoned to Washington to share his experience and observations. That had resulted in a major modification to the design, important enough to be designated a new class, the Sharks.
The Alligator had been built originally to clear Confederate harbor and river obstructions, but its success in battle opened new opportunities as a ship killer. The most important change was to marry an element of Confederate-designed semi-submersible, CSS Indian Chief, whose plans had been brought out of Charleston by two deserting Confederate sailors. The U.S. Navy referred to this type of boat as a David.7 That feature was the addition of an engine to allow rapid propulsion. The boat would have almost no profile except a small smokestack and air pipe that at night were practically invisible. When it was not feasible to sail in this manner, the smoke stack and pipe could be lowered and sealed while a team of eight oarsmen, as they were quaintly called, turned the cranks that in turn powered the propeller as the boat became a true submersible.8
Lincoln wandered slowly through the warren of cables, stacked hull plates, barrels of rivets, and machines to reach the boat that seemed the most completed. Its thirty-five tons lay forty-seven feet long in its wooden braces, its iron hull painted a new dark green. A man was leaning over the deck stenciling USS Shark on its bow and beneath it an attacking shark, its jaws agape. Lincoln ran his hand over the hull and said, “Paint her good, young man.” The painter had just noticed the President and dropped his brush. Lincoln’s hand darted out and caught it by the handle.
“Oh, Mr. President, I’m so sorry.”
“Been painting long?”
“I just started, sir.” Then Lincoln noticed he was missing a foot. He was one of the military invalids who were given priority in hiring. When critical war production work was declared off limits to the draft, there had been a flood of applications. America’s factories did not want for willing hands after that, but Lincoln had insisted that the war-wounded be given first crack.
“Well, son, everybody’s got to start somewhere.” He reached up and handed the brush to the young man, who leaned over the side to take it.
“Thank you, sir!”
“Sir,” Fox interrupted, “you’ll find this interesting.” He waved his hand at the wooden stairs that led to a platform and the boat’s hatch. De Villeroi disappeared down the hatch first. Lincoln peered down into the boat and was surprised to see that the interior was painted a flat white. He lowered his gangly frame inside and instantly had to bend over. Though the boat had six feet from keel to hull, his six feet four inches made him hunch over. Parallel rows of glass ports studding the upper bulkhead that would allow for some illumination through shallow water.
De Villeroi was standing in front of a large metal box, of which he seemed obviously proud. Lincoln was happy to give him a cue by asking, “And what is this, professor?” He sat down on one of the oarsmen’s benches to get the kink out of his neck.
The Frenchman explained that it was the air purifier and renewer. One man in the crew would continue to pump the interior air as it grew stale through this device, and it would come fresh out the other side. “With this, Monsieur le President, the crew can stay underwater for long periods.”
“Well, how does it work?”
“Most simple! The air is pumped through a solution of lime water. It freshens the air by removing the impurities that would otherwise cause men to die of asphyxiation.”9
Lincoln shook his head. “And you thought of this yourself?”
De Villeroi simply bowed in response.
“Well, Louis Napoleon’s loss is our gain.”
“If the boat is near enough to the surface, air can also to be supplied from the surface by two tubes with floats, connected to an air pump inside, as you see here.”
Lincoln’s eyes darted around the bright interior. That was a cue that de Villeroi used to begin showing him one innovation after another. He ignored the fact that it was Navy engineers who had redesigned the hand crank system to power the propellers and replace the side-mounted paddles he had designed. The Navy also added the engine after the David design. The final item was a demonstration of the diver lock out chamber. A Navy diver was fitted into his diving suit. His air hose was passed through a hole in the chamber door and fixed to his suit. Then another crewman shut the door. “At this point, sir, the chamber is flooded. When that is done, the diver opens the outer door and drops to affix a torpedo to an enemy vessel. The captain then detonates the topedoes by connecting an insulated copper wire from the torpedoes to a battery in the vessel. The diver can also replace the torpedo on the spar attached to the bow.” Lincoln was so impressed he asked to go with the diver through the hatch and exit outside the boat and then return the same way.
Thanking de Villeroi, Lincoln drew Fox out of the shed along the slipway leading to the river. When they were alone, he said, “Now, tell me, Fox, when will they be ready? Rations are getting low out at Fort Monroe and Norfolk.” He was referring to the difficulty of getting bulk supplies needed by the fort and particularly the fleet bottled up at the Norfolk Navy Yard. Heavy and bulk stores such as coal and ammunition in particular needed to go by ship, but the Royal Navy had plugged up the mouth of the Chesapeake. Something was needed to encourage them to leave.
“The Shark drops into the water next week. The next two boats in three weeks, and the last by the end of April. Add two weeks trial and training to each boat.”10
“Keep to it, Fox, keep to it. We cannot lose a fleet.”
HEADQUARTERS, ARMY OF NORTHERN VIRGINIA, GORDONSVILLE, VIRGINIA, 5:33 P.M., FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 1864
Longstreet and Lee watched the train to Richmond disappear down the track as the presidential honor guard and band marched back to camp. Lee said, “Ride with me,” and led them out of town and onto a country road. It was a beautiful, bright, late-March day with the sky an intoxicating bright blue. Already the daffodils were sending up their leaves, and the crocus sparkled yellow and blue. Lee’s color bearer and escort kept a tactful distance in the rear.
The train had carried President Davis and a British military and naval delegation back to Richmond. They had been closeted with Lee for an entire day. Lee had asked for Longstreet to accompany him to see the President off. Davis had been quite cordial to Lee’s commander of the mighty First Corps. Longstreet was now all ears.
“General, I have a task for you that requires the detachment of your corps.” That corps that had been so badly thinned at Chickamauga and then the retreat from C
hattanooga was at full strength again, as were all of Lee’s regiments. With the British and French in the war, thousands of deserters had returned to the colors and many thousands more had been freed from garrison duty on the Atlantic and Gulf coasts.
“Our British friends require Norfolk Navy Yard to sustain their fleet in its operations against the North. President Davis has pledged to do everything in our power to assist them.”
Longstreet thought he knew what was coming next, but he was surprised when Lee said, “You will attack the enemy in the Virginia Peninsula and put Fort Monroe under siege.”
“General Lee, for a moment I thought you wanted me to return to attack Suffolk, which defends the Navy Yard, as I did last summer.”
Lee stopped and petted Traveler. “We will do by indirection what last summer did not yield to direct action.”
Longstreet waited for Lee to expand on this thought.
“The key to Norfolk is not the fortifications at Suffolk, but the Virginia Peninsula. The enemy must supply those forces south of Suffolk by a laborious route across three peninsulas and three rivers.” By this he meant the Northern Neck, the Rappahanock River, the Virginia Peninsula, the York River, the James Peninsula, and then across the James River to Suffolk. “The British have made sure that nothing comes by way of the Chesapeake.”
Longstreet nodded his head. “We cut off their supply line by taking the Virginia Peninsula. Then they wither on the vine and must surrender.”
“With God’s help.”
THE FARM OF DR. SAMUEL MUDD, CARROL COUNTY, MARYLAND, 6:15 P.M., FRIDAY, MARCH 24, 1864
The handsome young man with the black hair and mustache dismounted and knocked on the door. He was welcomed inside. “Mr. Booth, I am Dr. Mudd. My wife and I have seen you perform and are your deepest admirers.” John Wilkes Booth looked for Mrs. Mudd, but she was nowhere to be seen, nor were there any of Mudd’s slaves present, only a man in his early fifties. Mudd quickly introduced him as George Sanders. He had arrived by the ratline that ran from Richmond in Virginia across the Potomac into southern Maryland and then into Washington, courtesy of the 9th Virginia Cavalry. The pleasantries were exchanged.
Booth was what would later be called a sleeper. He was a Confederate asset reserved for special missions. The last one had been an attempt to kidnap Lincoln, which failed through no fault of Booth. It was due to the last-minute escort this General Sharpe had sent scurrying after Lincoln after he had left his headquarters and was walking across Lafayette Square to the White House. The snatch was going to be there, and Booth had been waiting on a park bench to do his part to hustle Lincoln into a passing wagon. The sight of the escort had killed the operation just as the wagon started to rumble forward.11
Saunders had read over the report from their chief agent, James Smoke, who was later killed in his attempt to kill Lincoln in the chaos of the attack on Washington last October. Booth had not been present and did exactly what a sleeper should after a botched operation. He went back to sleep ready to be roused when the Confederacy would again need him.
That time had come. Saunders studied the dapper young man who simply radiated a dynamic presence and confidence. The arrogance came across too. The reports on him spoke of a fiery nature and intense vanity, useful traits to manipulate a man by. Saunders complimented his acting, discussing several of the plays he claimed to have seen. As he went on, he could not help but notice how Booth was preening over every word especially when Sanders said, “The talk of Richmond is that you will be the South’s unquestioned champion of the stage after the war, surpassing even the great talent of your famous father.” He paused for the effect. Not every actor trod the boards. “And certainly your brother.”
Oh, what a nerve he hit with that one. Booth was positively glowing. So the theater gossip of Booth’s jealousy of his older brother, Edwin, was true, thought Sanders. Well, he had seen them both, and he could see why the younger Booth was jealous. Edwin was the better actor. His tragic performances were sublime. John Wilkes’s weak acting was overshadowed by his violent physicality on the stage and the smoldering looks that seemed to make so many women daft. Sanders appreciated that, and he could only wistfully imagine how many bedroom doors that opened. There was something more to the gossip, though, something about the brothers’ politics. Edwin was by all accounts loyal to the Union. John Wilkes’ intemperate support for the Confederacy had strained their relationship.
All this ran through Sanders’s mind as he saw the moment right to drop the line that mattered most. “The Confederacy has need of a man of your talents and patriotism, Mr. Booth. I assure you, sir, I am not betraying confidences by repeating what has been said at the highest levels of the government in Richmond.”
UNION HALL, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA, 9:12 P.M., FRIDAY, MARCH 25, 1864
The young man on the stage paused for the laughter to die down, then said, “An old lady friend of mine had gotten ill, and no manner of cures could help her. I said, ‘I can cure you in a week.’ I told her she must give up swearing, drinking, and gambling. She said she couldn’t give up swearing, drinking, and gambling, that she had never done any of those things.”
He waited, tickling the audience’s expectation (his sense of timing was perfect), flicked an ash off his cigar, and deadpanned, “Well there you have it. She was like a sinking ship, with no freight to throw overboard. Why, just one little vice would have saved her.”
The laughter came in waves as the audience tasted the joke over and over again and each time found it funnier. The speaker had achieved some note as a humorist in Virginia City across the Sierras in Nevada and had just moved to San Francisco. He had been an inspired choice to entertain the elite of the city and their Russian guests in Union Hall, one of the largest and most magnificent buildings in the United States built with the endless sparkling gold dust washed out of California’s mountains and rivers.
Tonight it hosted Rear Adm. Andrei Alexandrovich Popov and his officers of the Russian Pacific Squadron. The Russians had arrived the previous October at the same time as the Baltic Squadron had arrived in New York. The Russians, though still neutral, had effectively guarded the port by their presence against any sudden British descent.
The speaker’s words were not lost on the English-speaking Russians whom, the Americans were delighted to note, had a wonderful sense of humor themselves.12 They applauded enthusiastically as his routine wandered into current events: “England’s coat of arms should be a lion’s head and shoulders welded onto a cur’s hindquarters.” Then he brought the house down: “I perceive now that the English are mentioned in the Bible: ‘Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.’” English arrogance was a byword in both Russia and America, and the room roared.
Now the speaker said it was not fair to concentrate only on the English. He had a word or two for their friends. “France,” he said, was a strange country that “has neither winter nor summer nor morals—apart from these drawbacks, it is a fine country.” He let each point sink in, banked the laughter, and went on, savoring the little dramatic pauses.
“M. de Lamester’s new French dictionary just issued in Paris defines virtue as ‘A woman who has only one lover and doesn’t steal.’
“The French” he said, flicking another ash, “are polite, but it is often mere ceremonial politeness. A Russian imbues his polite things with a heartiness, both of phrase and expression that compels belief in his sincerity.” With this compliment to their guests, the Americans rose to their feet and applauded for five minutes.
Then unexpectedly, he seemed to wander onto the subject of Turkey, a word he said with an obvious bad taste in his mouth. For fifteen minutes he regaled the audience with the backwardness of the Turks, then slowing draining the humor as he painted their bestial cruelties. The Russians leaned forward. “I wish Europe would let Russia annihilate Turkey a little,” another pause, “not much, but enough to make it difficult to find the place again without a divining rod or a diving-bell.”
As Sam Clemmons took his seat to lively applause, he congratulated himself that he had had the wit to buy a few Russian officers drinks, find out what was really on their minds, and fashion his routine accordingly.
7
Philosopher Generals
THE WHITE HOUSE, 12:20 P.M., SATURDAY, MARCH 26, 1864
The stitches in Grant’s scalp itched enough to drive any other man to distraction, but he just ignored it through his ability to focus on what was important. Now that focus was on Lincoln. Grant thought the President had seemed preoccupied through lunch. Stanton had carried much of the conversation.1 When the table had been cleared, Lincoln said with his eyes off in the distance, “Do you know I think General Fremont is a philosopher.” Maj. Gen. John C. Fremont had finally resigned. A popular figure who had run for president twice, he rejoined the Army when the war broke out and caused nothing but trouble for Lincoln, who finally sent him off without a command. There the man had languished. Even the entreaties of his wife, Jesse, had failed to move the President. Finally Fremont had simply resigned.
Lincoln went on, “He is really a great man. This war has not produced another such man. He has grappled with that greatest of ancient and wise admonitions ‘know thyself,‘ and certainly he is intimately acquainted with himself, knows for what he is fitted as well as for what he is unfitted as any man living, for much to my relief and greatly to the interest of the service to which has resigned his position in the army. I am in hopes some other dress parade commander will study over this advisory self-examination of ‘know thyself’ and follow his example. If they will only do so, I would be greatly relieved. They will have done their duty, and the country will be benefited.” 2 He sighed.
Grant could see how Lincoln’s shoulders sagged with the burdens of the war. A heavier burden than most was the deals with the devil that Lincoln had had to make to sustain the war against the Confederacy in the first two years since Secession. The support of the abolitionists and hard war Republicans was vital, and they could only be placated by the appointment of politically sound generals of their own background. So Lincoln had appointed Nathaniel Banks, former governor of Massachusetts and Speaker of the House to command in Louisiana where his political talent was bent to organizing a Union state government. Unfortunately, his military talents were lacking, and he been crushed at the battle of Vermillionville by the consummate Marshal Bazaine. They had lost almost all of Louisiana and control of the mouth of the Mississippi.3
Bayonets, Balloons & Ironclads: Britain and France Take Sides With the South Page 18