When I consider the great difficulties which the statesmen of North America have to encounter, when I consider what I may call the awful emergency which they have met manfully and courageously, I think it becomes England in dealing with the government of the United States, to extend to all which they say at least a generous interpretation, and to their acts a liberal construction.10
They sat by the fire, letting the warmth soak in. It was a strange pairing. Everyone knew Bright was a dangerous political opponent, but no one distrusted him for he always did just what he said he would do. To put it mildly, Disraeli did not have such a reputation. "Well, Disraeli, what is it that you insist is better said in Buckinghamshire than in London?" He looked upon Disraeli as a skeptic would upon organized religion. He did not trust the man. They had had a similar encounter in 1854, and Bright's sketch of Disraeli 's personality had not changed:
This remarkable man is ambitious, most able, and without prejudices. He conceives it right to strive for a great career with such principles are in vogue in his age and country -says the politics and principles suit England must he of the "English type," but having obtained power, would use it to found a great reputation on great services rendered to the country. He seems unable to comprehend the morality of our political course. ...11
In particular Bright remembered Disraeli's candor when he once said, "We are here for fame."
Disraeli leaned back in his chair. "For a great nation to wage war, it must have leaders that understand chess, Bright. They must think three, four, five moves ahead and even more to checkmate. But war is not like chess, for the game of war ripples on beyond checkmate."
"And what are these ripples you see?"
"You don't think this war will be confined to North America, certainly?"
The doors opened, and Mary Anne walked in, followed by the servants who set a small table. Disraeli showed Bright to a seat but did not sit down himself. He began to pace. "How do we want this game to end Bright? What kind of world do we want to see when it is all done?"
Bright knew it was a rhetorical question and that Disraeli was about to answer it himself. You never knew where Disraeli would land once he leaped. His party was not in power, but he had the queen's ear and affection, for she believed "Disraeli was the only one who appreciated the prince," her late husband, Albert, the Prince Consort, who had died only the year before.12 Disraeli had been careful to take up the cause of those talented men whom Albert had also championed, which only added to the Widow of Windsor's favor. He once admitted to a friend, "You have heard me accused me of being a flatterer. It is true. I am a flatterer. I have found it useful. Everyone likes flattery; and when you come to royalty you should lay it on with a trowel."13
One of Albert's men was Capt. Cowper Phipps Cole, RN, a firstclass innovator who had developed the concept of an armored turret for warships almost contemporaneously with John Ericsson. His design pivoted on rollers, a far more stable design than Ericsson's jam-prone central spindle. It was no accident that the first armored, turreted, all-iron warship building in British yards laid down in April 1862 shortly after the Prince Consort's death was named HMS Prince Albert. She was not scheduled for launch until May 1864, and the queen was distressed at the slow rate of work. 4
Her grief for her lost husband was compounded by anguish over her son Alfred, who had been missing since his ship went down. The palace had given the impression she was as stoic as a rock, but privately she shared this pain with Disraeli, whom she had taken into her closest circle, so much so that he was accorded marked respect even by her formidable Scots guardian, Mr. Brown.
"There will be nothing worth calling victory," Disraeli said. "We shall envy Pyrrhus. It took everything we had to defeat the Russians ten years ago. Now the bear is sniffing blood and will surely fall on us as we trade blows with the Americans. Who knows what other allies the Russians and Americans will find?"
He got up and poked the fire. "It's the Russians we have to worry about, Bright, not the Americans. They will finish with the Poles soon, and then watch out. We have interests in India, Afghanistan, and Central Asia, to which the Russians are the main threat. We have seen how close the Russians came this spring to bringing on a general war by abolishing the Kingdom of Poland. The Polish question is a diplomatic Frankenstein, created out of cadaverous remnants by the mystic blundering of Russell. And with whom does Palmerston and Russell get us into war, Bright, with whom? They have driven the Americans straight into the arms of the Russians.
"We can only hope the Poles can drag out their fight. Every Pole who dies buys time for England. No wonder the czar has not declared war after the naval battle in New York. Palmerston has had the rare good sense to treat the Russian involvement in the battle in New York Harbor as nothing more than an accident." He gave the fire a savage poke. "This will be a long and exhausting war if the Russians get into it."15
Bright's focus, though, was on North America. "Well, then, all the more reason to end this terrible war immediately. But, I must say, Disraeli, you have been at some pains never to let the Tories take a clear stand on the American question. I must ask you straight on. Why now? I thought you would he baying with the rest of the war hounds."
Disraeli ignored the question. "The Liberal government will lead this country into a blind alley within the year. I think the Russians will be in this by spring. I must be ready to find a way out when the country casts Liberals out. My question, then, Bright, is will you and the Radicals help bring that about?"
Bright was incredulous. "How much blood will be spilled in a year? Act now and we will support you."
Disraeli sighed. "Bright, these events have a natural rhythm which must play out. Should we try to arrest it, its force would crush us. No, we must wait despite the cost. We must cheer each victory, rally from each defeat, vote every appropriation, and point out every bungle so that the country may honestly turn to us when the time comes."
Bright stood up. He was clearly angry. "My God, Disraeli, your blood runs cold. No honest man could play so cynical a card."
Again Disraeli ignored the insult. "No doubt, Bright, no doubt. But the only way the war can be ended is without any more defeats. Nothing would dig in the heels of this nation than more catastrophes. The country's resolve will become adamantine."
He smiled darkly. "Do you remember Cohden's16 statement at the Navy Estimates Committee in February? My God, Bright, the man was a perfect Cassandra. Everything he forecast with our ships came about. Next to you he is the most influential of the Radicals. He should not let his prophecies be forgotten."17
HQ, UNION GARRISON, PORTLAND, MAINE, 1:25 PM, OCTOBER 21, 1863
The leaves had turned an unusually brilliant range of colors this year in the "Forest City" of Maine. Even more brilliant than the reds, oranges, and yellows from the oaks, chestnuts, and maples were the tongues of flame that spiraled up from the burning city.
Brig. Gen. Neal Dow roamed the ruins, trailing a small staff. He commanded the garrison of the city that had stood grim siege for ten days. He knew it as a man knew his own backyard. A famous teetotaler, he had turned the city dry as mayor and put down the ensuing Portland Rum Riots with a heavy hand. Now all was forgiven as he breathed combative life into the garrison and gave stout heart to the population. He had led the Maine regiments of the Army of the Potomac back to recruit after the bloodletting of Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, a ploy of George Sharpe to quietly strengthen the vital port as Britain and the Union paused before lunging at each other. The Maine men had arrived just in time to thwart a British coup de main against the city. Dow had led the attack that had broken the British landing on the docks while Col. Joshua Chamberlain had beat back the landward attack.
The city's suffering had only begun. The British had turned Fort Gorges's heavy guns on the docks and warehouses, first while the Royal Navy's ships steamed around the Portland peninsula adding the fire of their guns. The British normally would not have fired on a defenseless port, and indeed the
British naval officer who had fired on the railroad station was eventually relieved for violations of the customs of civilized warfare. But once Dow decided to defend the city, it became fair game. The British division was reinforced with heavy guns from the defenses of Halifax, and these pounded the landward defenses of the city. Already a quarter of Portland was in ruins, its population, save for able-bodied men in the militia and those with other vital skills, huddled in their cellars. At least they had not gone hungry. Portland was the port used to export the grain harvest of the Canadas, and most of it was in the city where it was being milled before being shipped to Britain. The city's bakeries produced bread and hardtack around the clock. They did not want for fuel either since the winter supply for the city had been laid in, and ruined buildings provided even more.
Dow had made good use of the ruins, organizing the men of the city to pile up the rubble along the waterfront as a barricade and blocking every street facing the hay and walling up every ground floor window. The Portlanders had responded to every demand with stoic determination. They now proudly referred to their city as Fortress Portland and took great pride that it was the sons of Maine and their own militia who manned the barricades and entrenchments.
The pounding was relentless that afternoon. The people huddling in their cellars felt the waves of concussion and watched as the dust drifted down through the floorboards from the broken floors above. Dow had climbed up a broken wall to gain a better vantage ignoring the pleas of his staff, "Get down, sir! Please, get down!"
They saw the guns on the big frigate in the harbor ripple with fire. The wall simply disintegrated as several 68-pound shot struck it. Dow was thrown off like a rag doll and buried as the broken brick cascaded down on him.
With Dow dead, command of the town fell upon Chamberlain's shoulders. By the tenth, he had not slept or changed his clothes for what seemed like an eternity. His clothes stank of burning, which at least covered up worse. The roar of the guns had become such a constant that he was instantly aware when the silence announced itself. They had stopped. It was not just a rare coincidence of timing. The silence went on. The reason was explained in short order when a messenger from the landward defenses reported that the British drummers were beating for parley, and an officer had come over under flag of truce with a formal request.
Maj. Gen. Sir Charles Hastings Doyle was requesting a meeting with the American commander. The commander of British forces in the Maritime Provinces since 1860, and now commanding the twelve thousand British and Canadian troops of the Portland Field Force, did not much like Americans. He had been a strong advocate of the occupation of Maine during the Trent Affair. It was Portland's misfortune to have him in command. This veteran of the Crimean War and former inspector of militia in Ireland was an able and intelligent soldier with a reputation for fairness and integrity. The energy with which he conducted the siege was proof of that, as was his ability to integrate the new Canadian militia battalions with the Imperial battalions 18
Chamberlain accepted, desperate for some opening or at least some information. The British had sealed up Portland as tight as a drum. But first he had his uniform brushed thoroughly while the best barber in the city ran the keenest razor he had ever felt over his blond stubble. After the barber removed the hot towel, he ran his hand over his face, allowing himself the momentary luxury of the smooth feel of a really close shave.
The American drummer beat parley, and Chamberlain and escort rode through a gap in the line. Almost immediately a British party left its own lines. Chamberlain thought that the British knew how to put on a military show in this sort of thing. He had made sure that his color bearer and escort were all from his own 20th Maine and were shaved and cleaned up. Maj. Ellis Spear, acting commander of 20th Maine, was his deputy.
The two parties stopped twenty yards apart as the two commanders rode forward accompanied only by a color bearer and a single escort. Doyle and Chamberlain rode alongside each other, exchanged salutes, and introduced themselves. Then Chamberlain pulled off his gauntlet and offered his hand. Doyle was taken aback. English gentlemen found this American custom of shaking hands to be mildly distasteful, but he believed that a gentleman never unwittingly gave offense. He took Chamberlain's hand.
He was the first to speak, appropriately enough as he had called for the parley. "General, may I offer my admiration for the gallant defense of the city."
It was Chamberlain's turn to be taken aback. "I appreciate the compliment, Sir Charles, but my rank is that of colonel."
Doyle smiled, "Well, sir, let me be the bearer of happy news from one soldier to another. Your newspapers have reported that Mr. Lincoln has promoted you major general of volunteers." The surprise on Chamberlain's face revealed this was certainly news to him. Doyle was pleased to he gracious, for being a general transcends nationality, but was even more pleased to discover how completely cut off Portland was if this week-old news had not penetrated. That could be a weapon in his hand if used well. It was a godsend that this American did not know that the powerful VI Corps led by the able Maj. Gen. John Sedgwick was detraining just over the state border to the south to march directly to the relief of Portland. With just the right approach, he might be able to convince Chamberlain to surrender before he had to march away either to abandon the siege or to leave just enough force behind to maintain the siege and meet Sedgwick well short of Portland. It would not do to leave a fortress in his rear with an able and aggressive commander 19
Doyle then said, "But, my dear general, duty requires me to lay soldierly courtesies aside. I appeal to you to surrender the city for the sake of humanity, to relieve the civilian population of their distress."
Chamberlain replied, "I assure you, Sir Charles, that the good people of Portland are snug in their cellars and well fed on good Canadian bread." He then threw back the offer. "But I am surprised at your concern for humanity when the Royal Navy fired upon a defenseless city in the dead of night without provocation. It was an outrage of the civilized conduct of war, Sir Charles."
Doyle would admit only to himself that the American was correct. The Navy had cocked that up badly. It does not do to put a vengeful spirit into your enemy. Talleyrand had put it well. It was worse than a crime; it was a mistake.
Ignoring the issue, Doyle then played upon the hopelessness of the garrison's position. "I assure you, sir, your government has far more to worry about than this one city. As you have been so obviously cut off from the blows which Her Majesty's armed forces have inflicted on your country, it is my sad duty to inform you. The British Army has taken Albany and put the entire Hudson Valley under contribution. New York City will fall within a fortnight. The Royal Navy has driven your fleet from its blockading stations along the coast of the Confederacy and has, in turn, blockaded your own coasts from Portland to the Chesapeake."
He glossed over the destruction of the British squadron at Charleston at the hands of Adm. John Dahlgren's South Atlantic Blockading Squadron. It sounded better with a selective choice of facts. Despite the tactical victory, the Americans had suffered a strategic defeat with the loss of their main forward operating base at Port Royal. Unable to sustain their blockading squadrons, they had withdrawn them to Norfolk. British ships stuffed with war material had flooded into the now open Confederate ports. Charleston harbor rode with a hundred masts, as its white gold stored for just such an event replaced the military cargos.
The obvious relish with which Doyle delivered the had news only seemed to make Chamberlain more obdurate. His eyes narrowed as he said through clenched teeth. "I will fight you to the last cartridge from the last ruined house with the last man. Your trophy will be a corpsestrewn ruin." It was a bold front. He had acted as if his ammunition was in good supply when his men were down to barely a dozen cartridges a man and the artillery down to even fewer than a half a dozen rounds per gun. There was plenty of ammunition for the big guns at Fort Gorges, but the British held that granite pile in a tight grip .21
In the e
nd, it was Chamberlain's bluff that mattered. The parley ended with his final refusal to consider surrender. Doyle was left with only the choice of had options. He simply could not abandon the siege, and he could not allow Sedgwick to get within striking range to trap him against the garrison of Portland. He could only hope to steal away with enough men to beat Sedgwick and then rush back before Chamberlain noticed he was gone. That would be asking a lot.21
BOSTON ATLANTIC WORKS SHIPYARD, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, 2.00 PM, OCTOBER 21, 1863
W. L. Hanscom was a naval constructor and not a very happy one. The new light draft monitor, USS Chimo, rode in the water with only part of her coal and none of her ammunition on board. Fully loaded, she was supposed to have fifteen inches of freeboard. Hanscom had just finished measuring the ship. She rode with barely seven inches of freeboard at the bow, and the stern was actually an inch under water. His report would read "adding the ammunition would have made her deck level with the water or submerged it. Only the arched portion of the deck along the ship's fore and aft centerline would have been out of the water-'rather a small margin for a man to go to sea with. 11122 A deadly understatement, indeed.
For the Navy's chief engineer, Alban Crocker Stimers, general inspector of ironclads, the news would fulfill his growing fears that had accumulated with sickening regularity for the last six months. Another ship of this shallow-draft monitor Casco class, the class namesake, would slide into the water with the same glaring result as Chimo. The builders could not be blamed.
Officially, Stimers reported to Rear Adm. Francis Hoyt Gregory, general superintendent of ironclads, but everything having to do with the actual construction of the ironclads was his responsibility, and now he was trying desperately to think how to shirk it. Stimers was a practical engineer and had not avoided getting his hands dirty in learning his trade. His career had ridden high with the ironclad monitors, the children of genius inventor John Ericsson. He had supervised the construction of the revolutionary turret of the experimental USS Monitor and accompanied her on her voyage to immortality at Hampton Roads.
A Rainbow of Blood: The Union in Peril an Alternate History Page 9