Stars & Stripes Triumphant

by Harry Harrison

  There were shouts of anger at these words—but also calls to let Mill speak on. Mill took the opportunity to glance at a sheet of notes he had taken from his pocket, spoke again in a loud and clear voice.

  "There is one great difference between our two democracies. In America, rule is from the bottom up. Here it is from the top down. It is the monarch who rules absolutely, who even owns the land under our feet. The Queen opens and closes Parliament, which is led by her prime minister. At sea it is the Royal Navy that guards our shores.

  "In this, America is completely different—it has its constitution, which spells out the people's rights. The closest that Britain has to the Constitution is the Bill of Rights of 1689, which reads, 'And whereas the said late King James the Second having abdicated the government and the throne being hereby vacant, his Highness the Prince of Orange...' Now I must draw your close attention to the next words:'... whom it hath pleased Almighty God to make the instrument of delivering this kingdom from popery and arbitrary power.'

  "This is clear enough. Power in this land comes not from the people but from on high. Your monarch rules with her authority, which is on loan from God. She in turn passes her power on to the government—while the people remain its servant."

  "You insult us!" an angry member calls on. "You speak not of the power vested in Parliament by our Magna Carta."

  Mill nodded. "I thank the gentleman for bringing that document to our attention. But neither the Magna Carta nor the Bill of Rights points out clearly the rights of our citizens. Indeed the Magna Carta is wholly concerned with the relationship of twenty-five barons to the King and the church. And, to the modern citizen, its contents are incredibly opaque. Hear this: 'All counties, hundreds, wapentakes and trithings shall be at the old rents without any additional payment, except our demesne manors.' And this as well: 'No clerk shall be amerced in respect of his lay holding except after the manner of the others aforesaid.' I am sure that all here will agree that this is not a practical guide to good, modern government. I would therefore point out to you a document that is."

  Mill took a thin, bound folio from his pocket and held it up. "This is the Constitution of the United States. It endows power to the people—who lend some of this power to the government. It is the most radical statement of human rights in the history of the human race.

  "What I sincerely ask this house to do is to read this document, peruse your Bill of Rights and Magna Carta, then consider this proposition. That you then assemble in a constitutional congress to prepare a constitution of your own. A British law for British people. I thank you."

  He sat down—and within a moment there were calls and shouts as half of the Parliament rose to their feet and called for attention. The speaker recognized the Prime Minister first.

  "I beg to differ from Mr. Mill. He may be English, but he speaks a foreign language—and wants to bring foreign ideas into the rule of this parliament. I say he is not welcome here, nor are his alien kickshaws. Our rule of law was good enough for our fathers, and their fathers before them. It is good enough for us."

  There were cries of acclaim at Russell's words and no dissenting voices were heard. Speaker after speaker followed him, most echoing his sentiments, although a very few admitted that constitutional reform might be a topic that could bear possible examination. They were shouted down. Benjamin Disraeli waited until the tumult had lessened before he rose to speak.

  "I am greatly concerned that my learned opponent has forgotten his own interest in this matter. Did he not himself attempt to introduce a new parliamentary reform act in 1860 that would have reduced the qualifications for voting in all the counties and towns? I believe that only the late Lord Palmerston's opposition led to the reform's demise."

  "I suggested reform," Russell responded. "Not the destruction of our parliamentary heritage." This was greeted with enthusiastic shouts of agreement.

  "Well then," Disraeli said, still holding the floor, "let us have a motion considering Mr. Mill's quite intelligent proposals..."

  "Let us not!" Lord Russell called out. "I shall not be part of a parliament that sits to consider treason. I am leaving—and call upon all like-minded members to join me."

  This brought on enthusiastic cheers and a growing rumble of feet as the members rose in great numbers and exited the chamber.

  In the end only Benjamin Disraeli and a dozen other MPs remained.

  "Not a truly representative portion of the house," Disraeli said quietly.

  "I disagree," Mill said. "This is the core of a congress. It will be joined by others."

  "I sincerely hope that you are right," Disraeli said with little enthusiasm in his voice. "I am here because I wish to see that the rule of law, and not occupation by a foreign power, be restored to this land. If this congress you propose is the only way—then so be it."

  THUNDER BEYOND THE HORIZON

  As soon as the members of the newly established occupying government had arrived from Washington, General Sherman was more than happy to turn over his offices in Buckingham Palace to them. The recently appointed politicians and State Department officials were very welcome to the ornate apartments. Sherman was much more at home in the Wellington barracks, itself no more than a few hundred yards from the palace. The buildings had been standing empty since the guards regiment they housed had been disbanded. A newly arrived regiment of Pennsylvania Rifles had now moved in, and he joined them. When the office walls and the endless paperwork closed in on Sherman he would have his mount saddled, then ride out into Green Park, or St. James's Park, which was just across Birdcage Walk, and let the wind blow the cobwebs out of his brain. The former commanding officer's quarters were spacious and very much to his liking. This officer had left the regimental trophies in their cabinets, the bullet-riddled flags still hung upon the wall. When the occupation was over, their rightful owners would return and find everything just as they had left it. Meanwhile, a silken Stars and Stripes stood proudly on a bronze mount before them all.

  The officers' mess was luxurious and comfortable. Sherman was enjoying a late meal there when the guard admitted Gustavus Fox.

  "Well, you have been a stranger, Gus. Pull up a chair and sit down. Have you eaten?"

  "Much earlier, thank you, Cumph." Since their journey on the Aurora, despite their age disparity, they had grown quite close. "But it's my throat that's parched; I could do with a drink."

  "Easily done." Sherman signaled to a waiter. "Our departed hosts left behind many barrels of fine ale. I shall join you in a glass. Perhaps we can even toast the Gatling gun. Have you heard the little poem that the gunners recite?"

  "I don't believe that I have."

  "It goes like this: 'Whatever happens, we have got / the Gatling gun, and they have not.' "

  "It only speaks the truth."

  "It does indeed. Now—what brings you here?"

  "A matter of some importance, I truthfully believe." Fox drank deeply from his glass and nodded happily. "Capital." When the waiter had gone he took a sheaf of papers from his pocket and slid them across the table. "I'll leave these with you. But I can sum them up quite clearly. I have had my clerks going through all the British military files, both army and navy. A good many were destroyed, but the capitulation of the armed forces was so swift that most of them were left behind. However, there were still masses of files burned in the War Department fireplaces. Luckily the navy was not as astute and duplicates of the ones that had been destroyed were found in their files. What you have there are details of a convoy of ships. It is called Force A. They sailed from India some weeks ago."

  "India?" Sherman frowned as he pulled the papers toward him. "What kind of a convoy?"

  "Troops. Fourteen troop-carrying vessels, most of them liners like the SS Dongola and SS Karmala. Among the units the Rajput Fifty-first Pioneers are listed. Along with the Second Battalion of North Lancashire Rifles, the Twenty-fifth Battalion of Royal Fusiliers—and more like that. They are accompanied by a number of warships, includ
ing the HMS Homayun, as well as the armorclad HMS Goliath."

  "I don't like this at all. A force this size can raise a lot of dander. When are they due here?"

  "If they keep to their schedule—in about one week's time."

  "Do you think they have been informed about the war—and the occupation?"

  "I am sure of that. As you know, most of the British navy that was at sea did not return to port. More than one ship fled Portsmouth to escape capture. Some of them surely knew about this convoy and would go to join it. Also, the convoy will have stopped at coaling stations en route, which would have been informed by telegraph of world events. We can be sure that they know exactly what has happened here."

  "You're in the navy, Gus. Any idea of what we should do?"

  Fox raised his hands in surrender. "No, sir! This is well out of my league. But I did send Admiral Farragut a copy of these shipping movements and asked him to join us here."

  "A wise move. He is a sound tactician."

  While the waiter was refilling their glasses, Sherman read through the papers that Fox had given him. Then he had the waiter bring him a pencil and made some notes on the back of one of those sheets. When he spoke again his voice was grim.

  "That is a sizable infantry force that is coming our way. I doubt if they will have the strength to retake this country from us, but there will still be some terrible battles if they manage to get ashore. If they do, there will surely be risings as well from demobilized British soldiers. This is not what we want."

  Admiral Farragut was of a like mind when he joined them. "Bad news indeed. I've sent orders to all our ships to refuel and stand ready."

  "What do you plan to do?" Sherman asked.

  "Nothing—until we have worked out where the convoy is headed. They will not go to the assigned ports that are in these orders, you can be sure of that. They will know by now about the occupation and the commanding officer of the troops will plan accordingly. I think the decision must be yours, General, because this is a military matter. Their army commanders will be planning a landing—or landings. Their navy will act as an escort and provide fire to cover any landings."

  "That was my thought as well." Sherman finished his ale and rose. "Let us take this discussion to my office and consult the maps there."

  The map of the British Isles was unfolded on the desk below the oil lamp. General Sherman studied it thoughtfully.

  "Any ideas, Gus?" he asked.

  "None! I have no intelligence of their destination and am no tactician. I will not attempt to even guess."

  "Very wise. Which leaves the responsibility to me. First—let us limit the possibilities." He tapped on the map. "I think that we can eliminate landings in the north and west. Scotland and Wales are too distant from the seat of power. Cornwall is the same as well. We must look to London."

  "They will not attempt to come up the Thames as we did," Farragut said. "It is common knowledge that our floating batteries are still stationed there. But here to the east, in the Wash, there are protected waters where landings are possible. Or farther south, perhaps, at the port of Harwich."

  Sherman shook his head. "Again—too far from the center. Harwich is a better possibility, it is surely close enough to London. But we would be warned if they landed there and could easily mass the troops to stop them. Therefore I believe that it is the south coast that we must worry about. They will know that we have seized Portsmouth, so they will not come ashore there. But here, farther east along the south coast, it is very different. Flat beaches, shallow waters, easy access from the sea. Brighton. Newhaven. Hastings." He ran his finger along the coast.

  "Hastings, 1066," Fox said. "The last successful invasion before ours."

  "I can station a screen of ships across the mouth of the English Channel," the admiral said. "From Bournemouth right across to the Cherbourg Peninsula. The Channel can't be more than eighty miles wide there. A force the size of this one coming from India would be easily spotted as it approached. But, of course, if they do go west to Cornwall or beyond, we will never see them. Their troops would be well ashore before we knew anything about it."

  The ticking of the clock could be clearly heard in the silence that followed. This was a command decision—and General William Tecumseh Sherman was in command. The burden of decision rested upon his shoulders alone. His commander in chief was on the other side of the Atlantic and could not be consulted in time. It was indeed his sole judgment. He glanced up at the clock.

  "Admiral, can you meet me here at eight o'clock in the morning to discuss your orders?"

  "I shall be here."

  "Fine. Gus, I want your clerks to rake through the files. Get me the strengths of all the units listed in these orders. I will also want that by eight in the morning at the latest. Earlier, if you can manage it."

  "I'll get onto it right now."

  "Good. On your way out, tell the officer of the day to send for my staff. It is going to be a long night."

  Dawn was just breaking when a haggard-eyed Fox brought the files with the strengths of the various military units that were in the approaching convoy. The staff officers moved aside when he came in and handed the papers to General Sherman.

  "They are all here, General. All of the troops listed as being in the convoy. I wish I could be as sure of the accompanying naval vessels. Here are the original manifests, but any number of ships could have joined the convoy since they sailed. The route and dates of the convoy were well known throughout the fleet. Any or all of the British ships that escaped capture could be with the convoy now."

  "Excellent. Now I suggest that you get some rest. You have done all that could be done."

  Sherman himself looked as alert as he had the evening before. A seasoned campaigner, he was used to days and nights without sleep. By eight o'clock, before Admiral Farragut arrived, the plans were well in hand. Once the orders had been written, the staff officers dispersed to implement them as soon as possible. Sherman was alone, looking out the window at the park when the admiral came in.

  "It is done," Sherman said. "Orders have been issued and the first troop movements will begin this morning."

  "To... where?"

  "Here," Sherman said, slapping his hand down on the map of the south coast of England. "They will try to land here—they have no other choice. But our troops will soon be digging in all along this coast. From Hastings to Brighton. The heart of our defenses will be at Newhaven Fort, right here. Some of the guns there were damaged, but they have all been replaced by now. That coast will soon be bristling with American might. Any attempts to land will be blasted from the water. But I hope that disaster will not happen. It must be averted."

  "How do you plan to do that?"

  "I will be able to tell you when I join you. When do you estimate that it is the earliest that the convoy will arrive?"

  "They may be slower than anticipated, but in any case they cannot get to the Channel any faster than was originally planned. Three more days at the earliest."

  "Good. You will post your ships at the Channel mouth, as you outlined last night. I shall join you in two days' time. Will you have a ship for me in Portsmouth?"

  "The Devastation just came in from patrol and is refueling in Southampton. I'll telegraph orders for her to await you there, then she will join us in station. I sincerely hope that you are right in your summation of the situation, General."

  Sherman smiled wryly. "Admiral, I have to be right or we are lost. If the British army from India gets ashore, it will be a ragtag, murderous invasion with no guarantee of a successful outcome for either side. I have issued my orders. What happens next is up to the enemy."

  As soon as it had been deemed safe, John Mill's daughter, Helen, had joined him in London. Through an agent she had found a most attractive furnished house to rent in Mayfair, on Brook Street. She knew how important a warm home environment was for Mill and she bent every effort in that direction. The strain of the work that he was doing was very great indeed, and he
walked now with his shoulders bent, as though he were carrying a heavy load. As indeed he was. He was in his sitting room, still in sleeping cap and dressing gown, enjoying his morning tea, when Helen brought in a copy of The Times.

  "I am almost afraid to read it these days," he said, touching the newspaper gingerly with the tips of his fingers.

  Helen laughed as he squinted at the first page. "It is not really that bad. They are actually weighing arguments pro and con concerning the proposed constitution—instead of thundering away, all barrels blazing, the way they did in the beginning." She reached into the pocket of her dress and took out some envelopes. "Your Mr. Disraeli was here even before the morning post and left these off for you."

  "Wonderful! I shall put the newspaper aside with pleasure. He promised me a list of possible members for the proposed congress—this will hopefully be them." He quickly read through the papers. "That is a familiar name. Charles Bradlaugh?"

  "You must remember him, Papa. The founder of the National Reformer and a great pamphleteer."

  "Of course—yes! A committed republican and a freethinker. I can hear the wounded cries now if we permit an atheist to join our congress. Indeed, we must have him. I will get an invitation off to him today. Ah—and here is Frederic Harrison as well. A gentleman well-known to the working classes as possessing a practical knowledge of how the trade unions operate. Disraeli strongly advises that he be present, and I can only agree."

  With Disraeli's aid and political know-how, a list of members for a constitutional congress was slowly being assembled. There were veteran politicians and reformers like William Gladstone, as well as up-and-coming politicians like Joseph Chamberlain. Although the newspapers sneered at the very idea of this congress and the political cartoonists had a field day at its expense, a possible panel was slowly being formed. Now it was only a matter of fixing a date that would be suitable for all parties concerned. What had seemed like a novel invention at first soon began to take on the appearance of respectability.