“They must sail with a fair breeze — or jump overboard.”
“Precisely. There have been Cabinet changes in the past — ” Lincoln turned to address his Secretary of War, who was just now entering the office, “you will not forget your predecessor Simon Cameron.”
Stanton laughed. “Nor will I forget his fate — ambassador to Russia.”
“A well deserved fate as you know, since you had to clean up the mess he made of the navy. But let us leave these matters for the morn — and enjoy this night of victory. When the Cabinet meets tomorrow it will be time enough to discuss our peacetime future.”
DAY OF VICTORY
The warship Avenger arrived just two days before General Sherman. She made landfall on the Nova Scotia coast at Cape Sable, then steamed north. Her arrival at the seaport of Halifax caused instant alarm. The two British frigates in the port raised steam and headed out to sea as soon as the American warship was identified. If there had been some wind they might have escaped, using a combination of screw and sail. But it was a still, cold December day and their sails hung in limp festoons. The newly-built Avenger had engines that were far superior to theirs. Once again iron mastered wood and the Chatelain was battered and wrecked after a single barrage from the warship’s two turrets. The master of the British frigate did not strike his colors even though nothing could be gained by fighting on. Avenger did not bother to ask the frigate to strike and disdained further battle to go in pursuit of her sister ship. The captain of the Courageous was more prudent, or practical, or simply realized that nothing could be gained in unequal battle. He struck as soon as the first shots had been fired. A boarding party was sent to her and took command, bringing the frigate back into the port she had so recently fled. Avenger looked on, guns ready, as the captured ship hove to, then threw a line to the battered Chatelain and took her under tow. Following orders the Courageous stopped her engines as soon as they had entered the outer harbor, then dropped anchor there. Avenger passed them and moved slowly toward the shore. As soon as she was within range the batteries of the harbor defenses opened fire.
Cannonballs threw up columns of water in the sea around the American ironclad — and bounced off of her eight-inch-thick armor. Seemingly indifferent to the attack the Avenger did not return the fire of the batteries as she patrolled the waterfront. Nor did she fire on the merchantmen and transports tied up there. Instead she moved to the center of the harbor where she dropped anchor and came to rest.
The nearest gun battery at the harbor mouth fired again. This time there was a response. The 400-pound shells from a single turret blew the battery into a jagged ruin in an instant. No other batteries fired.
“What the blazes is that thing doing?” the Duke of Cambridge asked. No one volunteered an answer. He stood on the balcony of his headquarters in Government House, wrapped in furs to ward off the bitter chill. He had only arrived a few days previously to take charge of the American operation. Urged to do so by his cousin, the Queen. The presence of the Commander-in-Chief of the British Army may have helped morale and rallied the troops some; it had had no apparent effect upon the operation of the war.
All the news was bad.
“First that disastrous adventure in the American South. Naval defeat in the Potomac. General Champion killed in battle. Our West Indies bases taken — Quebec fallen. And now this. You, Clive, you’re supposed to be the brainy one. Can you explain it?”
Brigadier Clive Somerville hesitated. The answer seemed obvious enough.
“Go on, then,” the Duke urged.
“Well, Sir — I imagine that warship is the cork in the bottle. The Yankee ironclads were reported in the St. Lawrence heading for the sea the last we heard.”
“The ice will stop them.”
“Not hard enough or thick enough yet to stop a steam powered iron ship. And I am sure that the enemy troops are marching close behind them.”
“Cork in the bottle, you say?”
“Yes, Sir. That armored ship of the line could bombard the city, drive us out if they wanted to. I think that they like us just as we are.”
The Duke of Cambridge looked at the dark form of the warship again and shivered. “Damn cold out here. Let’s to the fire. Someone find me a large brandy.” He led the way inside.
Soon after dawn the next morning the small flotilla of ironclads appeared out of the mist. They anchored next to the Avenger, which launched a boat as soon as they had dropped anchor. A portly form in a heavy cloak climbed slowly down and was transported to the leading ironclad. Very soon after that a boat started toward shore. A soldier in the bow held a white flag aloft.
“Send someone down there,” the Duke ordered and reached for his brandy glass. His staff officers talked uneasily among themselves as they waited. The Duke was still seated when the messenger returned, followed by a gray-garbed officer. He was turned out smartly in a gray uniform, gleaming boots, gold sash with a bold feather in his hat. He stopped before the Duke and saluted.
“General Robert E. Lee,” he said. “Of the United States Army.”
“What do you want?” the Duke snapped.
Lee looked him up and down coldly as he sprawled in his chair. There was more than a little contempt in his voice when he spoke.
“I want to speak to the commanding officer here. Who are you?”
“Watch your tone or I’ll have you run through!”
“This is the Duke of Cambridge,” Brigadier Somerville said quietly. “He is Commander-in-Chief of the army.”
“Well now, I think that will surely do for being in charge. I have a message from General Sherman, Commander-in-Chief of our forces. He would like to meet with you to discuss terms of surrender.”
“I’ll see him in hell first!” the Duke shouted, draining his glass and hurling it into the fireplace. Lee was unmoved, his soft Southern voice unperturbed.
“If you refuse this meeting all of the ships, military and civilian, in this harbor will be destroyed. This city will be burnt. Our army, less than a day’s march away, will make prisoners of any survivors and we will send them in chains to the United States. I must advise you that you have no choice in this matter.”
Brigadier Somerville broke the impasse once again.
“The Duke will see General Sherman here…”
“No.” All warmth was gone from Lee’s voice now. “The meeting will take place at the waterfront in exactly one-half hour’s time. The Duke is instructed to have no more than three officers with him.”
Lee did not salute again but turned on his heel and stamped from the room. The fire crackled as an ember burst: this was the only sound.
On the bridge of Avenger Commander Goldsborough glanced up at the ship’s clock, then raised his telescope again. “Ann, there at last. A portly officer wearing furs, three others.”
“Time to go,” Sherman said grimly.
The two boats moved swiftly to the shore. There was some delay as Commodore Goldsborough was half-lifted ashore. Then more than a dozen officers stepped onto the dock before General Sherman appeared. They opened ranks, then strode behind him as he walked across the cold stone towards the waiting men. A thin scud of snow swirled around them.
“I am General William Tecumseh Sherman, Commander-in-Chief of the United States Combined Forces. I understand that you are the Duke of Cambridge, Commander-in-Chief of the British Army.”
The chill air had damped some of the Duke’s bellicosity. He nodded abruptly.
“Good. The only course open to you is unconditional surrender. You will be relieved of all your guns, weapons and arms. If you do that you have my word that all of your men and officers will be allowed to board the transports and will be allowed to return to England. You and your staff will not go. You will accompany me to Washington for discussions with the American government about war reparations. There will be payments in gold as partial recompense for the destruction you caused to American cities, as well as the unwarranted deaths of her citizens.”