“Why, Count — you almost sound like a republican.”
Korzhenevski smiled wryly. “Perhaps I am. If there will be any changes to my country, they will certainly have to come from the top. The bourgeoisie and the mushiks don’t want to change their lot, while the serfs are powerless.”
Sherman looked out of the window, lost in thought, as the train got under way. It rattled along the shore for a few miles, until the tracks turned inland. The train was not fast, but still it was a pleasant journey through the green countryside, past the farms and forests, with the occasional stop at a town along the way. Sherman had a small leatherbound notebook in which he made careful notes, his eyes never leaving the window. They stopped at a larger station, on the hill above a pretty city that was set against the ocean.
“Falmouth,” the Count said. “There is a very good harbor here — you can see a bit of it there, above the rooftops.”
Sherman looked out through the glass of the compartment’s door, then through the corridor window beyond. An officer in naval uniform appeared there, taking hold of the door handle and sliding it open. Sherman looked away as he put the notebook into his inside jacket pocket. The Count stared straight ahead, just glimpsing the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. They of course did not speak to one another since they had not been introduced. After the train had pulled out of the station, Korzhenevski pointed at some buildings outside the window, then said something to Sherman in Russian.
“Da,” Sherman said, and continued looking out of the window. Long minutes passed in silence after that, until the newcomer put his fist before his face and coughed lightly. Neither man by the window turned to look at him. Then he coughed again and leaned forward.
“I say, I hope I’m not making a fool of myself, but I would swear, that is, I think that I heard you speak Russian…”
The Count turned a cold face toward the man, who had the good grace to blush deeply.
“If I am wrong, sir, I do apologize. But I think that I know you from Greenwich; you were years ahead of me, quite famous. A count; your name, I am afraid I do not remember. I am sorry that I spoke out—”
“Count Korzhenevski. You do have a good memory. But I’m afraid that I don’t recall—”
“I say — no need to apologize. I don’t believe we ever formally met. Lieutenant Archibald Fowler at your service.”
“What a pleasant surprise, Archie. And I see that you are still in the service.”
“Rather. Stationed aboard the old Defender in Plymouth. Just popped down to see some cousins in Falmouth for a few days.”
“How pleasant. This is my friend Boris Makarov. I’m afraid he speaks no English.”
“My pleasure.”
“Do svedanya,” Sherman answered with a bow of his head.
“I shall dine out on this for years,” Fowler said enthusiastically. “How we envied you and your friends, the parties, the champagne — yet you were always there, hard at work, on Monday mornings.”
“We were young and enthusiastic and, I must say, quite strong, to carry on as we did.”
“We did have some smashing times, didn’t we? So what brings you to Cornwall now?”
An innocent enough question — or was it? Korzhenevski racked his brain for an answer, bought some time. “For me it is always a pleasure to visit your lovely country, to see old friends.”
“Indeed.”
“But not this time,” the Count said with sudden inspiration. “Makarov here is a professor of engineering at the Moscow Institute. Since we were passing this way, he begged me to accompany him. Otherwise he could not make this trip.”
“Trip?” Fowler asked, puzzled.
“Yes. To see the world-famous Tamar Bridge, built by your Mr. Brunei.”
“A wonder! I can easily understand his enthusiasm. We used to go out in carriages and picnic on the cliffs above while we watched it go up. Laid bets it couldn’t be done. Made a few quid myself, you know. Unspannable, they said. But old Brunei built these ruddy great piers, solid stone. Then the bridge sections, built on land and brought out on barges, then lifted up to the top of the piers. You’ll see for yourself, we should be crossing it soon — right after Saltash.”
At slow speed the train moved out onto the bridge, under the immense tubular arches. “There, look at that!” Archie said with great enthusiasm. “Arches, strong under pressure. And next to them the suspension cables, equally strong under tension. So the way they are built, the forces cancel out at the ends of the sections; therefore, all of the weight is directed straight down onto the piers. Built in this manner, they could each be lifted as a single unit. A wonder of the world.”
“It is indeed.”
“Da, da,” Sherman added, much taken in by the sight.
The train pulled into Plymouth a few minutes later and they alighted.
“Can I show you around our ship? It would be a great pleasure,” Archie said. The Count shook his head. “If we but could. However we must return on the next train; we only had these few hours.”
“Next time, then. Well, you know where I am. And I want you to know that an old friend from Greenwich is always welcome.”
They shook hands and parted, the lieutenant leaving the station.
“What a bourgeois bore,” the Count said, looking distastefully at the naval officer’s retreating back. “Old friend indeed! Oh, how that jumped-up creature must have envied his elders and betters.”
Sherman and the Count had to find their train. As they climbed the stairs to cross over to the down track, the Count patted his forehead with his kerchief.
“I’m afraid I can’t keep as cool as you under fire, General. I hope this little trip was worth the effort.”
“Far more than you can realize. After we return to your ship, I would like to ask you to do me one last favor, if you will.”
“I am completely at your service.”
“Then — could we possibly make a visit to the river Mersey?”
“We could. To Liverpool?”
“To Liverpool indeed. After that, I am sure that you will be happy to hear our little adventure will be at an end.”
“Boshe moi!” the Count sighed loudly. “Which means something like ‘God bless.’ It is what Russians say at moments of great stress — or stress relieved. Come, let us not miss our train.”
President Abraham Lincoln was not happy. The cabinet meeting was not only not producing an answer to the country’s problems — but it was fast becoming a chaos of contrasting opinions.
“There is a limit beyond which we cannot and will not go,” Salmon P. Chase, Secretary of the Treasury, said in a firm and unyielding voice. “During the war, yes, people would put up with high levels of taxation, as well as a certain amount of physical discomfort and sacrifice. But the war is long over and they have come to expect some return for their efforts, some creature comforts. I cannot and will not agree to raising taxes once again.”
“I don’t think that you have heard me clearly, Mr. Chase,” Gideon Welles said with cold fury. “As Secretary of the Navy, it is my assignment to follow the dictates of Congress. In their wisdom, the Congress has ordered an expansion of the navy to follow the world trend. When other countries arm we must follow suit to ensure this country’s first line of defense. Naval strength today means ironclads. Now they are bigger, faster, stronger, better armed, and better armored. And all of that costs money. Have I made myself clear?”
Before the infuriated Chase could speak again, Edwin M. Stanton, the Secretary of War, broke in.