ARRIVED BALTIMORE BRINGING NEWSPAPER ROBIN
“Robin” was the code name of his most astute agent in the British Isles. An impoverished Irish count who had been to the right schools and sounded more English than the English. Nor was he ashamed to take money for working for the American cause. He was always reliable, his information always correct. And “newspaper” was the code word for a document. What document was worth his leaving England at this time?
“Someone to see you, sir.” Fox jumped to his feet.
“Show him in!”
The man who entered was slim, almost to the point of emaciation. But he had a reputation as a swordsman, and it was rumored as well that he had left Ireland under a cloud, after a duel.
“You are a welcome sight, Robin.”
“You too, old boy. Been a devilish long time. I do hope that your coffers are full for I had to pay dearly for this.” He took a folded paper from his pocket and handed it over. “Copied in my own hand from the original, which I assure you was the real thing. Admiralty letterhead and all.”
“Wonderful,” Fox mumbled as he scanned the document. “Wonderful. Wait here — I won’t be long.” He was out the door without waiting for an answer.
The Cabinet meeting was in progress when John Nicolay, Lincoln’s first secretary, knocked on the door and let himself in. He looked embarrassed at the silence that followed, the heads turned to look at him.
“Gentlemen, Mr. President, please excuse me for this interruption — but Mr. Fox is here. A matter of some urgency he said.”
Lincoln nodded. “When Gus says urgency I guess he means it. Send him in.”
Fox entered as the President finished speaking: he must have been standing just behind Nicolay. His expression was set, his face grim. Lincoln had never seen him like this before.
“Some urgency, Gus?” he asked as the door closed.
“It is, sir, or I would not have come here and interrupted your meeting at this time.”
“Out with it then, as the man said to the dentist.”
“I have here a report that has just come in — from a man in England I trust implicitly. His information, in the past, has always been most exact and reliable. It verifies some other information I received last week that was more than a little vague. This one is not.”
“Our friends the British?”
“Exactly so, sir. A convoy has left England. Cargo and troop ships guarded by at least two ironclads. I have known about this for some time — but have only now discovered their destination.” He held up the copy of the British naval orders. “Their destination appears to be in the West Indies.”
“There is a lot of ocean and plenty more islands out there,” Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles said. “How can you be sure?”
“There is that to be considered, Mr. Secretary. But the nature of the cargo seems to indicate their destination. Cannon, gentlemen. All of these ships are laden with heavy cannon that can be mounted on land, for defense…”
“The Bahamas!” Welles said, leaping to his feet. “The bases we took from the British — they want them back. They will need them for coaling ports again for any proposed action in the Gulf of Mexico.”
Fox nodded. “That is my belief as well. And I must add, and what I say must not leave this room, that I have physical evidence as well. Let us say that some English captains are less honest than others. One of my representatives has actually seen a ship’s orders and made a copy of it. I have it here. A rendezvous close to the Bahamas.”
“What forces do we have there?” Lincoln asked. All eyes were on the Secretary of War.
“The islands are lightly held,” Stanton said. “We demolished all the defenses after we seized them from the enemy.”
“The Avenger!” Welles said. “She’s tied up at Fortress Monroe. Should I contact her?”
“You should indeed. Send her to the West Indies at once, with a copy of the orders for the British rendezvous,” Lincoln said. “While we decide what we must do to defend ourselves against this new threat. This is grave news indeed. Would someone find a chart of the area?”
The Secretary of the Navy found the chart and spread it out on the table. They gathered around, peering over his shoulder as he talked.
“The guns were removed from the defensive positions and forts on the islands, here and here. The British troops are gone and we have some small garrisons taking their place. We never thought that they would return…”
“If they do retake the islands,” Lincoln asked, “what will it mean?”
“A foothold in the Americas,” Welles said grimly. “If they dig in well it won’t be as easy to root them out this time. They know now what to expect. If their guns are big enough we will have the devil’s own job to do. The coaling ports will enable them to reach Mexico easily. With more than enough coal left for an invasion along our Gulf coast.”
“Make sure that Avenger knows how important this mission is,” Lincoln said. “She is to proceed at her top speed. With her cannon loaded and ready. God only knows what she will find when she gets there.”
THUNDER BEFORE THE STORM
After much consideration Judah P. Benjamin finally decided that he would just have to do the job himself. He had his horse saddled while he was still eating breakfast. When he rode out he did not go to his office in Washington City; instead he turned towards Long Bridge and went across it to Virginia. He had considered all of the possibilities, all of the courses open to him. The easiest thing to have done would have been to have written a letter. Easy, but surely not very effective. Or he could have sent one of his clerks — or even someone from the Freedmen’s Bureau. But would they be convincing enough to get the aid he so desperately needed? He doubted it. This was one task he had to do on his own. His years in the business world, then in politics, had taught him how to be most persuasive when he had to be. Right now — he had to be.
It was a pleasant day and only a short ride to Falls Church. The fields he passed were lush and green, the cows rotund and healthy. The first sprouts of corn were already coming up. Although it was still early when he reached the town, there were already three gray-bearded men sitting in front of the general store, sucking on their pipes. He approached them.
“Good morning,” he said and touched the brim of his hat lightly.
The men nodded and the nearest said “How, y’all,” then launched a jet of tobacco juice into the dust of the street.
“I am looking for the encampment of the Texas Brigade and would greatly appreciate directions.”
They looked at each other in silence as though weighing the import of the question. Finally the one who appeared to be the oldest of the trio took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed with the stem.
“Keep on like directly you doin’. Then after you pass a copse of cottonwoods, you keep an eye out for their tents. Off over to the right a tad. Can’t miss ’em.”
Benjamin touched the brim of his hat again and rode on. About a quarter of a mile down the road and past the cottonwood trees. There were the tents all right, neat rows of them stretching across the field. In front of the larger company tent there were two flagstaffs as well. One flying the stars and stripes — the other the stars and bars. The country was reunited right enough, but still seemed to be unable to come to a decision about the symbols of the past.
The soldier on guard turned him over to the officer of the day who managed a salute when he heard Judah P. Benjamin’s name.