“Considering the tenor of his communications with us, I believe he must live in a permanent state of bile.”
The Belgian Foreign Minister, Baron Surlet de Chokier, rose and the murmur of voices died away as he addressed the assembly in French.
“He is just reading out a formal and general greeting to all the delegations assembled here,” Fox said, leaning over to whisper to the President. “And it is his fond hope that prosperity for all countries will be the fruitful conclusion of these highly significant and most important negotiations.”
Lincoln nodded. “You never cease to surprise me, Gus.”
Fox smiled and gave a very Gallic shrug of his shoulders.
When the baron had finished, he waved to his clerk, who began to read the protocol of business for the assembly. But Lord Palmerston loudly cleared his throat. He rumbled like a distant volcano as he climbed to his feet.
“Before these proceedings continue, I must protest strongly about the nature and particular membership of this assembly—”
“I beg your lordship to hear the protocol first!” de Chokier said pleadingly — but Palmerston would have none of it.
“A protest, sir, about the very basic nature of these proceedings. We are assembled here in a congress of the great nations of Europe to discuss matters most relevant to countries that are European. I therefore object most strongly to the presence of representatives of the upstart nation from far across the Atlantic. They have no right to be here and have no relevance to the matters at hand. The sight of them is an abomination to all honest men, of whatever nationality. Particularly insulting is the presence in their midst of a military officer who, until recently, was deeply involved in the slaughter of loyal British troops. They give offense, sir, and should be turned out into the street at once.”
Abraham Lincoln was no stranger to acrimonious public debate. He rose slowly to his feet, clutching his lapels casually. To those who knew, the mood indicated by the droop in his eyes — hiding their cold gaze — did not bode well for his opponents. The instant Palmerston paused for breath, Lincoln’s high, penetrating voice echoed from the chamber’s wall.
“I believe that the British representative is laboring under a self-imposed delusion, for which I apologize to all of the other delegates present. He should know that all of the nations gathered here were invited officially by King Leopold of Belgium himself. It is a most solemn and important gathering that we attend, for this is no provincial European occasion, but is instead a congress of countries who meet together to discuss matters of world importance. As Britain represents a world-embracing empire, so do we speak for the New World and its countries across the Atlantic Ocean—”
“Your comparisons are odious, sir!” Palmerston bellowed. “How dare you compare the sweep of the British Empire, the might of our world-spanning union, with your ragtag so-called democracies?”
“How dare you single out General Sherman, a brave soldier, for denigration when I see a plethora of uniforms about this room. And please tell me, is that not a general sitting close behind you?”
Palmerston, livid with rage, would have none of it. “You presume too much to speak to me in this manner—”
“Presume, sir? I presume nothing. In fact, I control my impatience as I address the person who was so presumptuous, so rash, that he dared to send armies to attack our peace-loving country. That was an act of war that did not go unpunished. However, it is my greatest hope that the nations convened here will not think of the past and of war. Instead we should look forward to peace in a peaceful future.”
Palmerston was beside himself. He crashed his cane again and again across the tabletop until the shocked voices of protest had died away.
“Her Majesty’s representatives did not come here to be insulted,” Palmerston bellowed. “It would be our pleasure to join the other representatives in a congress of mutual cooperation at some other time. But not here, not today, while these totally repugnant foreign intruders are present in this hall. I am therefore forced to wish you all a good day.”
He stalked from the room, his dramatic exit hampered by a stumbling progress caused by his swollen foot, while most of the other members of the delegation hurried after him. The door slammed shut and Lincoln nodded sagely. He slowly regained his seat. “I think the clerk can continue now,” he said.
The clerk began to read in a shaky voice until Baron de Chokier interrupted him. “I believe these proceedings should continue after a brief recess. If you please, gentlemen, in an hour’s time.”
“Got a mighty fierce temper for an old man,” Lincoln observed. “I wonder he didn’t explode years ago.”
“It must have all been prearranged,” Fox said, looking worried. “King Leopold is Queen Victoria’s favorite uncle and she looks up to him for advice and counseling. Knowing this, her prime minister could not easily refuse the invitation. But coming here was one thing for Palmerston; staying and talking peace with Yankees something altogether different. But now that they have shown their flag—”
“And retreated after the first engagement,” Lincoln said. “Can we proceed without their presence?”
“We can,” Pierce responded. “But I doubt if we will get very far. The British royal family is related to half the crowned heads in Europe and exercises a great deal of influence. Palmerston will of course report to the Queen and blame us for everything that has occurred here today. It is inconceivable that this congress can continue after Queen Victoria expresses her displeasure to the other crowned heads. The politicians who can make decisions will be recalled, and all that will be left behind will be delegations of second raters and timeservers… who will of course block any real agreements and will only drag their feet. I am afraid that this congress, that looked so promising, is going to be a rehearsed performance, with very little to show as a result.”
Lincoln nodded. “Well, we must do our part and not retreat at the first volley. Performance or not, we will sit it out. The British cannot blame us for threatening the peace of Europe — or standing in the way of any trade agreements.”
Pierce’s predictions proved to be most exact. There were discussions of the agenda, but they were all between minor officials as the leaders of the delegations slipped away one by one. At the end of the first week Lincoln did the same.
“Too much talk, too little action,” he said. “Ambassador Pierce, I am putting you in charge of this delegation while I attend to pressing business in Washington.”
Pierce nodded gloomily. “I understand, Mr. President. General Sherman — might I count upon your assistance?”
“Regrettably no. I will accompany the President to Ostend, where the battle cruiser USS Dictator is still tied up. We know that you will do your best.”
Pierce sighed and nodded his head. The conference, which had held out such great hope, was now an empty shell, with only minor officials like himself keeping it going. He looked on gloomily as the presidential party departed.
“And you two, are you sure that you won’t tell me what you are up to? What mysterious matters take you with me to Ostend?” Lincoln asked Fox and Sherman, once the three of them were in their closed carriage, his interest still piqued by their prolonged silence.
“We dare not,” Fox said. “If even a whisper gets out of what we are doing — well, I am afraid that the international consequences might very well be disastrous.”
“Now you really do have me interested.” Lincoln raised his hand. “But I shall not ask again. But please reassure me that you will report to me as soon as your mission has been accomplished.”
“You shall be the first to know — that I promise.”
Back in his room at the hotel, General Sherman took his clothes from the drawers of the dresser and laid them on the bed. Then he unlocked his suitcase. There was a sheet of paper inside that had not been there when he had closed it many days ago. He held it in the light from the window and read:
You are being watched closely by British agents.
Proceed with the President and board the USS Dictator.
Mr. Fox will receive further instructions.
The communication was unsigned.
Arrangements had been made well in advance and an entire railroad car reserved for the presidential party — as well as for the numerous armed officers of a household regiment. King Leopold would be very relieved when the Americans were safely aboard the warship in Ostend — but in the meantime they were to be closely guarded. The journey was a quick one, first by train and then by carriage. Sherman had barely set foot aboard the vessel when he was summoned by a sailor to the officers’ wardroom. Gus Fox was waiting there, accompanied by a puzzled-looking naval officer. Fox introduced them.
“General Sherman, this is Commander William Wilson, the second officer of this vessel. The commander was a chartered surveyor before he attended Annapolis and began his naval career.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Commander,” Sherman said, having a strong inkling of what Fox had in mind. When Fox next spoke his suspicions proved correct.
“I told Commander Wilson only the bare fact that you and I were undertaking a mission of great importance to our country. As well as one that might be highly dangerous. As a serving officer, he could of course be ordered to accompany us. However, considering the secrecy — not to mention the delicacy — of this assignment, I felt that the decision must be left up to him. Therefore I asked him if he would aid us without receiving any more information than that at the present time. I am happy to say that he volunteered.”
“I am pleased to hear so, Commander,” Sherman said. “It is good to have you on our side.”
“It is indeed my pleasure,” said Wilson. “I’ll be frank, General. I find the whole matter very mysterious, and under different circumstances I might reconsider my decision. However, I do welcome the chance to serve under you. Our country owes its very existence to your valor in battle, so I deem this a great honor indeed.”
“Thank you, Commander. And I know that Gus will tell you everything as soon as possible. In the meantime we must take our instructions from him.”
“Let’s start with this,” Fox said, taking a box from under the table and opening it to remove three silk hats. “These are as different from uniform hats as I could manage at short notice. I hope that I bought the right sizes.”
They traded the hats around, smiling as they tried them on, until they had each found a reasonable fit.
“These will do fine,” Fox said, looking into the mirror and tapping his into place at a rakish angle. “Now — will each of you please pack a small bag with personal necessities? No clothes, please, that will be taken care of later. Meet me here at midnight. And please wear trousers without piping. I will have greatcoats for you, also with their insignia removed. The captain has said that he will provide enough squads of armed sailors to sweep the dockside area as soon as it is dark and remove any intruders. This is most important, since we must not be seen as we leave.”
“And just where are we going?” Sherman asked.
Fox just smiled and touched a finger to his lips. “All will soon be revealed.”
There was no light on deck when, soon after midnight, they emerged into the darkness. Nor was anyone visible on the dock below. They felt their way down the gangway in the moonless night, with only starlight to guide them. There was a black form barely visible on the dock; a horse’s whinny revealed a waiting carriage.
“Entrez, s’il vous plaît,” a man whispered, holding the door open for them. The carriage jolted into motion as soon as they were seated. Curtains covered the windows. They could not see out — neither could anyone look in. They sat in silence, jostled about as the carriage bumped over cobbles, then picked up speed on a smoother road.
The trip seemed to last forever as they moved swiftly through the dark city. They stopped just once and there was the murmur of voices outside. Afterward, the horses speeded up to a fast trot — until they stopped once again. This time the door was opened by a man holding a blacked-out lantern. He lifted the covering flap of the lantern just enough to reveal the carriage steps.
“If you will please come with me.”
They heard the sounds of lapping water and saw that they were at another dock. Granite steps led down from the ground level to a waiting boat. Six silent sailors manned it, oars rigidly upright. Their guide helped them into the stern, then cast off the painter and joined them. As soon as he was seated, he said something in a foreign, guttural tongue. The sailors lowered their oars smartly and rowed them out into the stream. There were lights on the small ship anchored a little ways out, and a uniformed officer waiting at the foot of the gangway to help them aboard. Their guide was out first.
“Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to follow me.”
He led them belowdecks to a large compartment that spanned the width of the small vessel. It was brightly lit by candles and lamps.
“Welcome aboard the Aurora,” he said. “I am Count Alexander Korzhenevski.” He turned to the puzzled naval commander and put out his hand. “These other gentlemen I know, but you, sir, are also very welcome here. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. And you are…?”
“Wilson, sir. Commander William Wilson.”
“Welcome aboard, Commander. Now, gentlemen, please. Remove your outer garments and join me in some champagne.”
A white-jacketed sailor instantly appeared with bubbling glasses on a tray. They drank and looked around at the luxuriously appointed compartment. Heavy red curtains covered the shining brass portholes. Oil paintings of naval scenes adorned the walls; the chairs were soft and comfortable. The door opened and a young Russian officer with a curling blond beard joined them, taking a glass of champagne, nodding and smiling.
“Gentleman,” the Count said. “May I introduce Lieutenant Simenov, our first engineer.”
“Bloody good!” Simenov said, shaking Fox’s hand industriously.
“Ah — you speak English, then?”
“Bloody good!”
“I’m afraid that is the be-all and the end-all of his English,” Korzhenevski explained. “But he is a bloody great engineer.”
“Now, if you please,” Commander Wilson said. “Will someone be so kind as to tell me just what is happening? I admit to being completely in the dark.”
“Of course,” Fox said. “It seems that the Count has been kind enough to put his steam yacht at our disposal. We shall sail aboard her, and it is our intent to visit as many British coastal defenses as we can. That is why I asked you to volunteer. I look to your drafting skills to chart these positions.”
“Good God! We’re to be spies! They’ll arrest us on sight—”
“Not quite,” the Count said. “I am well-known in naval quarters and my presence is quite acceptable. While you gentlemen will be my guests as… Russian officers.”
Wilson’s face was a study in blank bewilderment. This morning he had been a naval officer on an American warship. Now, a few short hours later, he was to be a Russian officer poking about the English shores. It all sounded very chancy — and very dangerous. He did not speak his doubts aloud since the others seemed quite happy to go along with the subterfuge. Instead he shrugged, emptied his glass, and held it out to be refilled.
“You must all be tired,” Korzhenevski said. “But I am afraid I must ask you to stay up for a short time longer.” He issued a command in Russian to one of the sailors, who saluted and left the room. A short time later he returned with two men who were carrying tape measures, chalk, and notebooks; obviously tailors. They quickly measured the three Americans, bowed, and left.
“That will be all for this evening, gentlemen,” Korzhenevski said. “Whenever you wish, you will be shown to your quarters. But perhaps, first, you would like to join me in a glass of cognac to seal this day’s momentous events.”
No one said no.
A VOYAGE FRAUGHT WITH DANGER
Soon after dawn a light tapping on the compartment door awoke
General Sherman. A moment later the door opened and a mess boy brought in a steaming cup of coffee and put it on the table by the bed. Close behind him came a sailor carrying a gleaming white uniform. He smiled and said something in Russian and laid it carefully across a chair. On top of it he placed a large, white uniform cap.
“I’m sure that you are right,” Sherman said, sitting up in bed and gratefully sipping the coffee.
“Da, da!” the sailor said, and left.
It was a handsome uniform, with ornate, gold-braided shoulder boards and two rows of impressive-looking medals across the chest. And it fit perfectly. When he joined the others in the wardroom, he saw that Fox was wearing an equally imposing uniform, as was the embarrassed-looking Wilson.
The Count entered and clapped his hands with delight. “Excellent! Let me welcome you gentlemen into the Russian navy. Your presence here does us great honor. Later, after we have broken our fast, I will explain some slight differences between our naval service and your own. You will discover that we salute in a different manner and do too much heel clicking, which will not be familiar to you. But first, General Sherman — might I ask you to remove your jacket. Admirable!” He clapped his hands and a sailor led in two men bearing a large container of water, bowls, and jars. Sherman sat rigid as they draped him with towels, wet his beard and hair, even his eyebrows, then combed in a jet-black dye. With a murmured apology one of them even tinted his eyelashes with mascara. It was all done very quickly, and they were finished even as the stewards carried in the breakfast dishes; then his beard was trimmed into a more Russian shape. He admired himself in a mirror as the barbers bowed deeply and backed from the compartment.
“You look quite rakish,” Fox said, “and irresistible to the ladies.”
He indeed looked much younger, Sherman realized, for the dye had not only colored his red hair, but eliminated the strands of gray that were beginning to appear.
“Barbers and tailors available on call,” he said. “What other surprises do you have for us, Count Korzhenevski?”
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