Hall countered that the Union had shown no such punctilious regard for civilian lives and private property in its bombardment of Charleston and other Southern coastal towns. Milne was clear on this point. “The usages of civilized nations do no permit such depredations any longer.”
“But, Admiral, would not such a prohibition also prevent an attack on Washington?
Milne replied, “That will not be a problem. Once the river forts are suppressed, the city is at our mercy.”
Hall could only look into his teacup at the rebuff.
Milne glided over the issue and went on. “Seizing coaling stations at Martha’s Vineyard is vital to maintaining a blockade of the North, but they do not have the advantage of fully functioning ports when the North Atlantic winters will limit communication with Halifax. Bermuda, our winter headquarters, and Nassau, are too far away to sustain a blockading fleet. For that reason, I believe we must support the Army’s plan to capture Portland. Colonel Wolseley is correct in his conclusion that for the Army to wait to receive an American attack would be fatal. A rain of blows is the only thing that will keep the Americans from conquering Canada. I am reminded of something my father said back in 1817. ‘We cannot keep Canada if the Americans declare war against us.’
“We must also have a more southern base on the American shore. I was thinking of the American Navy’s forward operating base at Port Royal, south of Charleston, which they have conveniently prepared. Wolseley recommended the four thousand-man garrison of Barbados as a landing force to occupy it once we seize it.
“Like the Army in Canada, we too in the Navy have our own vulnerabilities that are best defended with offensive operations. We have no dry docks able to handle our ships of the line. We have had to depend on the American naval yards for emergency repairs in the past. Although we have a ready supply of coal in Nova Scotia, the best coal must still be brought from Wales. You know, Hall, I have another worry. Our base in Bermuda is woefully defended. My recommendations to London have fallen on deaf ears.”
Milne stood up and began to pace before the great windows. “We must plan for the long war, Hall, if our initial strike does not bring the Americans to their senses. I fear that if that first blow fails, we will only have roused these people to even greater efforts.
“What was feasible in 1861 is fraught with problems today. The strength of this station to undertake such an operation teeters, Hall, teeters on the jagged edge of adequacy. I cannot recommend to the Admiralty that it be attempted with the forces we have. If such an issue ever arises, I would insist on powerful reinforcement. We must have all four of our broadside ironclads and a good part of the Channel Squadron itself. We shall also require the naval siege train, the ‘Great Armament,’ that was assembled for the capture of Sebastopol.”
He stopped pacing. “I think such a war will make us long for the French as enemies.”
GOVERNOR’S MANSION, INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, 12:20 PM, SEPTEMBER 4, 1863
Governor Oliver Morton was a happy man as he raised a glass of wine. “Gentlemen, I toast the good Sergeant Cline.” Sharpe was happy to comply, as was Col. Henry Carrington, the officer detailed to be the Copperhead catcher in Indiana. Cline’s raid on Bowles’s farm and the recovery from his barns of all the Springfield rifles stolen the last month had been a signal success in a difficult and shadowy fight against disloyalty.
Sharpe had sent Cline immediately out from Washington to report to Colonel Carrington. A week later, several companies of Cline’s old regiment, the 3rd Indiana Cavalry, had followed. Sharpe had secured their detail to his bureau for special operations. This regiment had what was called “personality.” Unlike most Union cavalry regiments it had never had to go through long periods of training simply to learn how to ride; its volunteers were already accomplished horsemen and owned their own horses and equipment. Hooker had put them to good use when he commanded a division in an almost independent command on the Eastern Shore of Maryland earlier in the war. Always eager for intelligence, Hooker had called on the services of Lafayette Baker, who was glad to train the regiment in aspects of counterespionage. They responded with such enthusiasm that on one occasion they captured a Confederate sloop loading contraband supplies on the Chesapeake Bay, earning the title of “Hooker’s Horse Marines.”
With a crack unit like the 3rd at his disposal, Colonel Carrington approved Cline’s suggestion to clean out Bowles’s nest. Now Bowles was safely in prison without the protection of habeas corpus, his band was dead or captured, and his farm no longer served as a locus of subversion. Morton was in a very good mood. Sharpe thought it a good time to hand him a letter from General Meade. He requested a promotion to captain for Cline. Morton read it and huffed. “Captain! He thinks I hand out captains’ commissions like candy. Why, sir,” he said with a slight twinkle in his eye, “those are scarce as hen’s teeth.” He paused, “But I have a surplus of commissions to major at hand. While Captain Cline is a pleasant alliteration, I think Major Cline would be far more useful to our cause.”
Sharpe had every reason to be as positive as Morton. He had set up his bureau successfully. McPhail was in Washington, assembling a staff. He had secured the detail of his “Horse Marines” for very special operations, and he had personally attended to the lancing of a festering boil in a state important to Lincoln for the sustenance of the war effort.
On the train the next morning he let his thoughts range in a stream of consciousness, which he had come to learn could be most useful at finding new perspectives. The Washington Arsenal came to mind, that complex of weapons munitions and storehouses and assembly factories on the southern tip of Washington where the Potomac and Eastern Branch rivers met. He had been intrigued by Lincoln’s references to the coffee mill gun, and a few inquiries had revealed that all fifty the President had encouraged McClellan to buy were there. He paid a visit and found them in a shed, all neatly lined up and oiled, and looking with their hoppers very much like the coffee mills that Lincoln had named them after.
He had put in a requisition for ten of them and had been turned down flat by Ripley. Sharpe had stormed into Ripley’s office. The old man had actually lied to his face that there were no coffee mill guns stored at the Arsenal. “I was there three days ago and saw them with my own eyes!”
Caught in a bold-faced lie, Ripley blamed an administrative oversight. Then finding another argument, he said, “But in any case, you are not authorized such weapons in your present capacity.”
Sharpe tossed away any pretense at courtesy. “Listen to me, you lying old fraud, I have the authority of the President of the United States, and I will not hesitate to use it to make sure you are issuing rations on a Sioux reservation in Minnesota by next week.” Ripley blinked and signed the authorization.
Sharpe issued them to his old regiment, the 120th NY, now safely a part of the garrison of Washington. He had raised this regiment in Ulster and Greene counties back home, and no colonel in the Army retained a more paternal concern. They had bled badly at Gettysburg but had earned a reputation for stubbornness. He was proud of them, but what was more useful at this time was that he knew they were reliable and returned his devotion. Though assigned officially to the garrison, they were considered to be at his disposal. He arranged for them to replace the military guard at the White House and to train with the coffee mill guns at one of the firing ranges. He could rely on their acting commander, Maj. John Tappen, to run a taut outfit. Tappen was a first-class fighting man and held the respect of the men. He and Sharpe had been company commanders together when they marched off to save the capital in the first days of the war in their old militia regiment, the 20th NY State Militia Regiment. It would take him a few more weeks to get the 20th swapped out with another regiment gone soft in the Washington forts. Sharpe was a man of strong and even sentimental loyalties, and these were strongest with the two regiments he had served with. In fact, when he raised the 120th, he deliberately chose that number to reflect the old 20th, even though that put the new regiment behind in seniority. Sharpe was a Hudson Valley man who trusted his Ulster and Greene County compatriots first and foremost.