1862

by Robert Conroy

  “I did this,” Nathan groaned. “It's my fault.”

  He crawled farther. There was a head laying on the ground. How strange. No, it was sticking out of it. It was Downes, the last member of the patrol. The Apaches had buried him up to his neck and facing the dawn. They had cut off his eyelids so the sun had blinded him and reduced his eyes to lumps of charcoal. Nathan couldn't tell if he was dead; he could only hope so.

  Nathan crawled on. He sensed something behind him and turned. An Apache stood a few feet away. Nathan tried to scream but nothing would come out. Then he tried to move, but his wounded leg wouldn't let him. The Indian was laughing and he had a large bowie knife in his hand.

  And then Nathan was awake and lying in a pool of his own sweat. Nathan breathed heavily and checked his surroundings. He was in his own room and not under an Apache knife. He swore. The damned dream had returned.

  Of course, the events hadn't occurred quite like the dream, which was a small source of comfort to him. For one thing, no one with a shattered leg could have crawled around like he did. He hadn't actually seen the bodies until after a patrol had rescued him from the ravine. But the horrors that the Apaches had inflicted on the soldiers were accurate. Poor, blinded Downes had lived for a couple of hours before finally, mercifully, dying. He sometimes wondered if one of the other soldiers had helped him along. God bless him if he had. Downes had been castrated as well as blinded, and his tongue had been ripped out.

  Nathan had later been exonerated by a board of inquiry. It wasn't his fault, they said. The Apaches had been stalking the main column for days and his little patrol's search for a couple of lost horses had simply been a target of opportunity for an enemy that had been patient skilled, and greater in numbers.

  For Nathan, however, it wasn't quite that simple. He had led four men to horrible deaths, and he himself had been maimed. He could never erase the ghastly sight of their remains and the way that two of them had died. It had led to a crisis of doubt: Could he ever lead men into harm's way again?

  It had been almost a year before he was able to walk, and only then with the help of a cane. His body was much better now, but he still wondered if there was something- anything-that he could have done to save his men.

  Nathan rose and peeled off his sodden clothing. He sponged his body with cold water left overnight in a pitcher, and then dressed. It was very early, but there would be no more sleep for him this night. It had been awhile since he'd last had the dream, and he'd hoped it had gone forever. It hadn't and it remained a presence, albeit a receding one, that he'd have to deal with.

  Nathan dressed and walked quietly down the hallway to the kitchen. Perhaps he could manage to make himself some coffee. As he walked, he noticed motion outside, in the wing where the servants lived. A disheveled and partially dressed Attila Flynn clambered out a first-floor window and looked around cautiously. He then reached into the window and pulled a plump and very naked Bridget Conlin halfway out to him. They kissed and embraced tenderly.

  “I think I should fire her,” said General Scott. He'd come up on Nathan quietly. Fromm was beside him and the former sergeant's eyes were black with anger. It occurred to Nathan that Attila Flynn wasn't the only person the comely young Bridget had been sleeping with.

  “How long have you known about this?” Nathan asked.

  “A bit,” Scott answered. “Obviously she's telling that Flynn person everything she hears us say. Who knows, maybe she's even reading our correspondence.”

  In which case, she would know that Rebecca Devon and he were having lunch this day, and would she care? Nathan made a quick decision.

  “Then don't let on that we know,” Nathan said. “That will shift the advantage back to us. We'll just be more circumspect in what we do, although we might think of planting some information that we want Flynn to have. Flynn's just using Bridget and will drop her when she's no longer of any use to him.” He noted a softening in Fromm's expression. He'd just given the man some hope. “Besides,” Nathan grinned, “she's a damned fine cook, and those are hard to find.”

  As he spoke, he felt the dream receding further into the background of his consciousness. Perhaps he had been inactive for too long. Captain John Knollys and former British consul at Charleston James Bunch were physically unalike and vastly different in temperament.

  Bunch was short, plump, in his mid-forties, and of great and unfeigned geniality. He had served England in Charleston for a number of years and considered himself an expert in matters regarding the American South and the new Confederacy. As a result of the time spent in the South, he was also an ardent supporter of the Confederate cause, and was delighted at the turn of events that had resulted in a de facto alliance between Great Britain and the Confederacy.

  Captain John Knollys, on the other hand, was a tall, slight, balding man in his mid-thirties who looked more like an underfed scholar than a professional soldier who had seen combat in the Crimea and in India. Quiet and thoughtful, he had the healthy skepticism of a man who had spent almost twenty years in the British army as a junior officer and who had very little hope of further advancement. His family, although ancient and honorable, was not wealthy, and his branch of it had little influence. It was frustrating. He'd seen utter fools promoted because they were going to grow up to be Lord Something or Other, while he languished as a captain.

  Despite their differences, Bunch and Knollys had formed a quick and easy friendship. That it was born of the reality that they could serve and help each other didn't matter.

  Knollys, Lord Richard Lyons, and a couple of others of the ambassador's staff had recently arrived in Richmond by British steamer after a tedious journey through the northern part of New York State, a crossing near Buffalo, and a subsequent train journey to Ottawa. Lyons had elected to come to Richmond as expeditiously as possible and without waiting for the rest of his official family.

  Bunch liked to joke that he was almost literally a man without a country. He had been Her Majesty's representative to the United States at Charleston, but Charleston was no longer part of the United States. Until the Confederacy was officially recognized and Lord Lyons declared an ambassador instead of a representative, Bunch was a man without official posting or duties. He did, however, continue to be paid, which was a great relief since he, too, was not a wealthy man.

  As if money mattered for the moment. Neither Bunch's nor Knollys's cash was any good in Richmond, where the English were as popular as any mere mortals could be. Once again Knollys had taken to not wearing his uniform. This time it was not out of fear of being harmed, but out of fear of the overwhelming affections of the Southern people, who foisted food and drink on him whether he wanted it or not.

  As a result, the two men had taken to eating their meals in their hotel rooms. It gave them the privacy they needed to discuss sensitive matters.

  Bunch raised a glass of port. “Again to your good fortune in escaping from the North.”

  The toast was only half in jest. Of all the British officers assigned to observe the American army prior to the war, only Knollys had been permitted to leave, and that was because he had been assigned to the embassy and not to a U.S. military command. Those other unlucky officers were considered prisoners and would either be exchanged or paroled at some time in the future. Knollys was long overdue for promotion to major and to be incarcerated at the beginning of this new war would have been a final and deadly blow to his career.

  Knollys counted his lucky stars that someone had forgotten his stint as an observer of McDowell's army at Bull Run and of General Stone's at Ball's Bluff. He considered himself thoroughly knowledgeable regarding the Union army. Now he was pleased that he could use that accumulated knowledge to help the cause of Great Britain.

  “Are you enjoying Richmond?” Bunch asked.

  “Oh, it's very interesting,” Knollys answered, and they both laughed. Like Washington, Richmond, Virginia, was a small town that had grown uncontrollably large virtually overnight. Richmond was a tow
n without the external elegances of a capitol building and the monuments that one normally associated with a nation's capital. He had also noticed that there appeared to be more prostitutes in Richmond than in Washington, although not by a large number.

  “I know it's a depressingly rude city,” said Bunch, “but Richmond'll get better when the war is won and the Confederate states become dominions of Great Britain again.”

  Knollys smiled and chewed his food. As British consul, Bunch had given a number of pro-South speeches in the Charleston area that had been wildly applauded. As a result, he had convinced himself that the Carolinas and Virginia would welcome a return to the Imperial fold. Knollys thought Bunch was fooling himself and had thoroughly misinterpreted the cheers of the Charleston crowds then and the Richmond throngs now.

  “If only the South would get rid of slavery,” Bunch sighed, “then all problems would disappear.”

  “But slavery isn't going to disappear, and Ambassador- excuse me, Representative-Lyons has told Mr. Benjamin that there cannot be a formal alliance without it.”

  As a matter of protocol, Lord Lyons had met formally with the Confederacy's secretary of state, Judah P. Benjamin. He would meet Jefferson Davis and others in less formal situations. This punctilio was required by Lord Lyons lest the South assume too much from the contacts. They were brothers in arms but not allies, and British diplomatic behavior would reflect this until ordered otherwise.

  “However,” said Knollys, “I have it on good authority that Mr. Benjamin has informed Lord Lyons that it is Jefferson Davis's intent that slavery be abolished within one year of a treaty of independence between the Union and the Confederacy. Davis, through Benjamin, has informed us that he personally abhors slavery, but that his nation must make a decision regarding slavery freely. When that protocol is signed, then you will see more help given to the South. If it is not,” he shrugged, “then we will commence actions against the North directly, and not break the Union blockade of the South. It would be a curious way to fight a war, but we will do it.”

  “And Davis will agree to put in writing that he will abolish slavery within a year of the end of hostilities? Incredible if true,” said Bunch.

  “Absolutely,” said Knollys. Normally, he would not have been as close to Lord Lyons as he was, but the fact that the staff was so truncated necessitated it. Although a loyal servant of the crown, Lyons found slavery repugnant and supported any efforts to do away with it. “Apparently, the protocol will be kept secret for the war's duration since the freedom to keep slavery is something the South is fighting for. Davis will also have to politic hard to get his countrymen to support freeing the slaves.”

  “And what do you think of the Southern army?” Bunch asked, changing the subject.

  Knollys laughed. “Hard-fighting, well-led, and disreputable. They are also poorly armed. Their uniforms are a hodgepodge of gray and light brown, butternut they call it. Many don't bother and just wear civilian clothes. A number don't have shoes, and they are all filthy. But, lord, can they fight.”

  “Then the South will win, won't it?” asked Bunch hopefully.

  “For the moment, the Southis winning, but only because the North is so incompetent. The North has a much larger population from which to draw, and the industrial might to supply them. They say the South also has a more martial tradition; however, that is something that could be overcome as the allegedly less martial Northerners gain military experience.”

  Bunch was perplexed by the less-than-overwhelming support for the South's army. “But the Confederacy has the better generals, doesn't it?”

  “For the moment, yes. But what nation finishes a war with the generals with which it began? Napoleon rose from the chaos of the French Revolution, and Wellington was a nonentity at the beginning of that war with Revolutionary France. No, what I am saying, James, is that the South cannot grant the North time to discover who its leaders ought to be. That would be disastrous for us and the South. The Confederacy, along with us, of course, must win this war in this year of 1862. The longer it drags on the greater the advantage will shift to the North. After all, there are battles and campaigns being fought out towards the west of this continent that will have an impact on the final accounting, and out west the Confederacy is not doing as well as it is in the east.”

  Bunch mentioned the likelihood of McClellan's attacking southward. In a land where newspapers printed anything they wished, and where the Washington and Richmond papers arrived at the other city the next day, there were few secrets between the two enemies. Many felt that there were thousands of spies in each place, but others thought it was simply the incredibly lax security, along with the propensity to gossip, that gave away so many secrets.

  “It's so interesting,” said Knollys. “McClellan is losing the confidence of Lincoln and General Joe Johnston does not have the confidence of Jefferson Davis. It wouldn't surprise me at all if either or both are replaced. After all, everyone says that Robert E. Lee is the best military mind around, but he doesn't have a field command. If Johnston hesitates in the slightest, Davis will replace him with Lee.”

  Bunch wiped his chin with a napkin. “And where does that leave McClellan? Who might replace him? Certainly none of his subordinates has distinguished himself so far.”

  Knollys agreed. But there were other armies and other generals out in Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, and Illinois. Large armies were poised at each others throats in lands far away from Washington and Richmond. The war was not totally going the South's way. The border states were either pacified by the Union or were being fought over. Even Virginia had lost the western portion of herself as a result of McClellan's early actions.

  It occurred to Knollys that the war might be decided far away from the seventy-mile corridor that separated Washington from Richmond. The thought did not make him comfortable. Victory for the Confederacy and Great Britain had to occur quickly for both his career and Great Britain.

  Like gray ghosts, the British battle line appeared off Boston, Massachusetts. The sight of the ships bearing down on the city sent panic through the streets. Church bells rang and countless thousands went in either direction. Some chose to immediately flee the city for the safety of the countryside, while others flocked to the waterfront to see what would happen. Even the British, they reasoned, wouldn't fire on civilian buildings.

  They were right. The enemy ships veered off in the direction of the uncompleted shore batteries. As they drew within range, the handful of American guns that had been emplaced fired on the British ships. This foolish gesture was met with a thunderous barrage that pulverized the American works that were mainly made of earth, rather than concrete.

  When the American guns had been silenced, the British ships paraded insolently through the harbor, firing steadily and destroying all the shipping within range. Scores of ships of all sizes were struck and burst into flames. Some of the burning vessels ran aground, which caused fires to begin and spread throughout the city itself. Soon the waterfront was ablaze and those who had remained in the city stampeded inland for safety.

  On board the flagship, the mightyWarrior, Admiral Sir William Parker stood on his ancient legs and watched the fires destroy much of the city that had been such a problem for England in the American Revolution. He had to admit it was satisfying, although somewhat dismaying, as the flames began to burn more and more of the city.

  It wasn't quite what he had had in mind. After ensuring that the British army had safely departed Bangor, he had only planned to make a demonstration of force against Boston. The number of possible targets in the harbor, and the fact that the Americans had fired on him, had changed his mind. He had tweaked Brother Jonathan's nose and he rather liked it.

  Parker was over eighty, but he was one of the few British admirals who would accept a command against the United States and in support of the Southern slave owners. He felt he owed that much to his queen even though he, too, hated the thought of keeping people in bondage. Further, Parker had
been a driving force in reforming the training methods of the Royal Navy and was anxious to see them put into effect. A pity, he thought, that there were no American warships in Boston harbor. Either that or they had prudently hidden themselves from the overwhelming might of his fleet.

  When there was nothing left in the burning harbor worth destroying, Parker signaled the fleet to retire to the open vastness of the ocean. There would be no more demonstrations against American cities. His next stop was off Norfolk, Virginia, where he would find out whether he was to break the Union blockade off Confederate ports, establish a blockade of Union ports, or commence the destruction of the American seacoast. Whatever his orders directed, Admiral Parker was prepared to do his duty.

  Chapter Six

  Lord Palmerston felt only relatively pleased by events as he sipped brandy in his office and read the latest dispatches. His partner, Lord Russell, dozed easily in a large chair in the corner. Papers lay loosely on his lap.

  The very first cable message from Canada had brought the obvious and welcome news that the cable was fixed and working, and that the reinforcements landed in Maine had successfully crossed into Canada and were resting in Ottawa. Also, the cable was being extended from Canada to a terminus in the Confederacy, probably Norfolk. The cable was maddeningly slow, often requiring several minutes and several tries for the transmission of a single word, but it was vastly superior to waiting days, even weeks, for news of events. The cable's inherent limitations had forced both London and Canada to be both brief and explicit in their communications.

  In his message, Lord Cardigan had informed Palmerston that he would move the bulk of his army to Kingston, a city on the coast of Lake Ontario. Just south of it there was a substantial British garrison entrenched in the St. Catherine- Niagara area across from the American city of Buffalo, New York. Such a force would also protect the Welland Canal, the only means of getting shipping from Lake Ontario through to the other great lakes.