The Avenger swung about in a great arc. By the time she had turned in her own wake the ship was ready for battle again as the reloaded guns, one after another, were run back into position. There were burns and great smears and gouges in her armor plate where shells had struck and exploded. But she was still fit, still ready to do battle.
There was no need.
In the time it had taken for the two ships to pass each other the wooden British warship had been holed and was aflame from stem to stern. There was scarcely time to lower the boats as the rigging and sails caught fire; the terrified crewmen hurled themselves into the ocean to escape the flames. Corpses and upended cannon were strewn on her deck. There was a muffled explosion deep in her hull and gushing steam added to the horrors aboard her as the boiler exploded.
Avenger slowed her engines as she approached the enemy, guns ready and alert. Yet not a shot was fired. With all resistance ended the enemy lay heavy in the sea, almost unseen behind the flame and smoke that roared from her.
Goldsborough nodded with satisfaction. “Lower the boats to pick up those survivors in the water.”
The little steamship had come close to the warship now and Lincoln’s orders kept the River Queen’s signalman busy. As soon as the import of his message reached Commander Goldsborough the word was quickly passed and one of the boats, oars flashing, raced for the smaller vessel. Lincoln climbed wearily down from the bridge to speak to his assembled officers.
“Gentlemen, I think that we have experienced the nearest thing to a miracle that we will ever see in our lifetime.”
“Amen to that, brother!” called out one of Lee’s officers, a preacher in civilian life.
“We have little or no time to waste. We all saw the fleet that is now sailing on Washington. And we know how defenseless that city is at the present time. Providence has provided us with this magnificent vessel that might put a halt to that invasion. General Sherman and I will go aboard the Avenger and sail with her. You will follow in this ship. We will meet again in Washington.” He looked down at the boat that now, oars in, was tying onto their ship.
“There is danger, Mr. President. I am a soldier and it is my duty to move into battle. But you are the leader of our country, your life far more valuable than mine,” General Sherman protested. Lincoln shook his head.
“I have a feeling, General, that for this day at least Providence is on our side. Let us go.” He went to the ladder and descended, one of the sailors helping him into the boat. Sherman could only follow.
Commodore Goldsborough came out of the hatch and onto the shrapnel-strewn deck and saluted when they climbed aboard. Old, gray-haired and overweight, he was still a man of fighting spirit.
“Thank you for the timely arrival,” Lincoln said. He looked at the blazing wreck and shook his head. “A single broadside did that…”
“We used explosive shells, Mr. President. The aft battery was charged with the new incendiary shells that we were testing out at sea. They are filled with an inflammable substance that is said to burn for thirty minutes without the possibility of being quenched. I wish we had more of them for I would say they are a great success. But welcome, sir, welcome aboard. You as well, General Sherman.” He turned and shouted commands in a voice that could be heard in a gale; the engines rumbled deep below. He coughed, cleared his throat, and continued to speak but in a far more conversational manner.
“I tied up at Fort Monroe less than two hours ago, to take on coal. Then telegraphed reports began coming in about the presence of the enemy fleet in the Potomac. As far as I know mine is the only ship of strength in these waters. I dropped my lines and, well, you saw what happened next. I must thank you for bringing that British ship to my attention.”
“We must thank you, Commodore, for your timely arrival and most convincing treatment of our pursuer. Now — to Washington.”
“To Washington, Mr. President. Full speed ahead.”
When the War Department was not directly attacked, General Rose had ordered scouts to slip out of the back windows. They desperately needed to know what was going on. The first one to return was ordered to report directly to Secretary Stanton.
“What is the city like, Corporal?”
“Pretty quiet, nothing moving except where them British troops are. Everyone locked up and quiet. I think I saw the Capitol on fire, and it had been hit by gunfire, but couldn’t get close enough to be sure. Then I got as near to the river as I could. All our guns wiped out, many of our men too. Redcoats still landing, lots of them spread out, but lots of them shot dead.”
“What do you mean?”
“Local folks not taking kindly to them. And it looked like every farmer that could ride a mule headed for the city when these ships went by on the Potomac. They got a line of men stretched out and firing — with more arriving every minute.”
“Enough to stop the British?”
“I don’t believe so, sir. Those troops are regulars and there is an awful lot of them.”
“Mr. Stanton — it looks like they’re getting into the White House now!”
It certainly appeared to be the end. The defensive fire had died down and the first enemy troops were battering at the sealed front door. The troops inside were firing through the shattered windows to no avail.
Above the scattering of shots a bugle could be clearly heard. Sounding the same call over and over.
“That bugle call — what is it?” Stanton asked worriedly.
The general shook his head. “I’m afraid that I do not know, sir. It is not a call used in the United States Army.”
“I know, sir,” the corporal said. Every eye was on him. “I’m in a signals unit, we know all the British calls as well.
“That’s retreat, sir, that’s what they are sounding. Retreat.”
“But — why?” Stanton asked. “They are winning. Have our troops rallied and attacked…”
“Not troops!” General Rose cried out. “Look, there in the Potomac!”
In the patch of river, just visible past the verandas of the White House, a hulking dark form moved into view. Guns ready, the stars and stripes flapping from her staff.
An American armor-clad; the salvation of the city.
“Your orders, Mr. President,” the Commodore said.
Lincoln was bent over and looking out through the slit in the armor that covered the bridge. It was hot, close in here. What it would be like when the guns fired and shells struck outside he did not even want to imagine. There was a good chance that he might find out in the coming minutes.
“What do you suggest, Commodore?”
“Wood, sir. All wood and no iron on any of the warships. You saw what happens when wood fights iron.”
“I did indeed. Can you call upon them to surrender?”
“I could, but I doubt that it would be appreciated. Those ships came here to fight and fight they will. See, they are already swinging about to get their guns to bear.”
“The ships with the troops — you will spare them?”
“Of course — unless they refuse to surrender and try to escape. But I think they will be reasonable after they see what happens to the others.”
Smoke rolled out from the Prince Regent’s guns and there was a mighty clang of metal upon metal that sounded through the ship.
“Return fire,” Goldsborough ordered.
The Battle of the Potomac River had begun.
The British had their defensive tactics forced upon them: they were compelled to keep their warships between this armored enemy and the unarmed transports tied up along the shore. The retreating troops were being boarded as fast as they could, but it would still take some time. Time that would have to be bought with men’s lives.