“At this point I must remind you all that it costs a million and a half dollars a day to keep two hundred thousand well-trained troops in the field. Like the navy, I have been instructed by Congress to build and maintain that army—”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Lincoln said, raising his voice to silence the squabbling, “I feel that we are arguing at cross purposes here. That you all have valid points to make, I do not doubt. But I called this meeting today to seek your advice and joint wisdom in facing up to our current and major problem: The intransigence of the British and their flouting of international relationships on a massive scale against our country. That is the intelligence I now desperately need. I beg of you, abandon your differences and speak only to this point, if you please.”
The men seated around the long table fell silent. So silent, in fact, that the hum of a bumblebee could be clearly heard as it flew in through an open window. It thudded angrily against the glass pane before it could find the way to exit. In this silence the low voice of William H. Seward could be plainly heard.
“As Secretary of State, it is my duty to answer the President’s request. My department has not been idle. Abroad, ambassadors and civil servants have been attempting to get other countries to join us in protest against the British. In this I am forced to admit failure. Many of the European countries, large enough and strong enough to impress the British with their views, are linked to the British royal family, while smaller countries are left unheard. Regretfully, there is frankly little more that we can do.”
“I can but advise your representatives to try harder,” Judah P. Benjamin said. After being defeated in the presidential election, he had graciously agreed to return to his cabinet post as Secretary for the South. “Every day I receive more and more complaints from the cotton planters. They cannot depend on the domestic market alone, but must look overseas to ensure their profits. The British seizure of so many cotton ships is driving them to bankruptcy.”
There were nods of understanding at this unhappy state. Then, before anyone else could speak, the door opened and John Hay, Secretary to the President, slipped in. He spoke softly to Lincoln, who nodded.
“I understand,” he said. “Tarry a moment, John, while I put this to the cabinet. Gentlemen, it has been brought to my attention that the President of Ireland is waiting below with the Irish ambassador. He contacted me last night, soon after his arrival, and requested a meeting. I informed him about this cabinet session and asked him to join us. I hope you will agree that what he has to say is of the utmost importance to you all assembled here.”
“It is indeed,” Seward said. “We must have him in.”
Hay went out and the cabinet waited in silence until he returned. When he came back he ushered in two men in dark morning suits. Their mien echoed the color of their garb, for their faces expressed nothing but unhappiness — bordering on despair.
“President Rossa,” John Hay said, and the President nodded. “With him is Ambassador O’Brin.”
“This is a great pleasure,” Lincoln said. “John, do bring over those chairs. Jeremiah, when I saw you last it was during a time of great difficulty.”
“Unhappily, Abraham, the difficulties are still there — and if anything, they have grown, until I fear that my poor country is at the mercy of some biblical plague.”
“And I can put a name to that plague,” the Irish ambassador said. “I beg you, excuse me for speaking out like that, but the words are forced from my soul. The British — they are the plague that is destroying our poor country.”
“They are indeed,” Rossa said, nodding agreement. “How fondly I remember those halcyon days when President Lincoln attended my inauguration. What hope was in the air! We had just suffered the agonies of war, but none of us regretted the sacrifice. Ireland was free, free after all those centuries of oppression. You could taste the freedom in the air, hear it in the sound of the church bells. We were at last a single country, from Belfast in the north to Cork in the south. United and free to shape our own destiny.”
Rossa looked around at the listening cabinet members, his eyes deep-set and smeared dark with despair.
“How quickly it was all to end. Instead of rebuilding and reuniting Ireland, we are being forced once more to defend her. Our fishermen see their boats burned. Our seaside towns and cities are attacked and pillaged. While Irish men and women — and children! — are seized from their homes in England and imprisoned in the vileness of the concentration camps. What can be done? What can be done?”
“President Rossa — we have been asking ourselves the same question,” Seward said. “I feel that my department of state is failing the American people. Despite our efforts at finding a peaceful conclusion, our cotton ships are still being seized at sea.”
“Perhaps there is only one answer,” Rossa said in a voice laden with despair. “Perhaps there is indeed no peaceful solution. Perhaps we must do again the terrible and the threatening. I see no other possible conclusion, given the facts as we know them.” He drew himself up and looked around at the assembled cabinet.
“Perhaps we must do as we did — as you did — before. Call on the British one last time to cease and desist their maraudings. Put the weight of history upon them. Tell them they must stop at once. For if they do not, we will come to but one conclusion. That they have declared war upon us. If that is what they decide — so be it. We are a smaller country and a weaker one. But there is not a single person in our land who will not agree that if we are forced to the decision, the Republic of Ireland will declare war upon Great Britain.
“If we do that, will you, the country of democracy and freedom, join us in this noble endeavor?
“Will you join us in a just war against Great Britain?”
TRAPPED!
The Aurora sighted the bar light vessel first as they entered Liverpool Bay. In the early afternoon they continued on through the jumble of tide-ripped water that marked the entrance to the Mersey estuary. A summer storm had been building up all day. Blowing in from the Atlantic, it had grown in strength while it was crossing Ireland, and was now churning up the Irish Sea. Count Korzhenevski and General Sherman were on deck, wearing oilskins to give them some protection from the driving rain. The low-lying shore on both sides of the river was barely visible through the mist and rain.
“Should we drop anchor and wait for the storm to clear?” the Count asked.
“Only if you feel it necessary. I don’t want to stay in this area very long. I just want to see the approaches to Liverpool and its relation to the river.”
“That will be easy enough to do, rain or no. We have come this far and we are reaching the end of our mission. Yes, let us do it — then leave these waters. I am sure that we will all be immensely relieved once we are done with all this.”
“I am in complete agreement. We shall press on.”
The wind abated somewhat when they left the open sea for the shallower waters of the landlocked estuary, but the rain continued to fall relentlessly. Despite this they could easily find their way. The channel was well marked by buoys, and with the incoming tide behind them, the little steam yacht made very good time. They passed smaller fishing boats under full sail, then an immense side-wheel freighter thrashing its way downriver to the sea. By late afternoon the church towers of Liverpool were visible ahead. The Aurora swung closer to the riverbank as the first docks loomed up out of the rain. In the lounge belowdecks, driven there by the rain, Commander Wilson sketched the shoreline as best he could, looking out through a porthole and muttering imprecations at the filthy weather.