“Good work, Major. I’ll take over from here.”
Sherman returned the man’s salute, then turned to look up at the grim granite walls of the castle. Should he wait until they could bring some cannon up to batter an opening in them? There were a number of doors and windows; a sudden attack might take the castle by storm. But many good men would be lost if the defenders put up a stiff defense. A moment later the decision was taken out of his hands.
“The big front gate is opening, General,” a soldier called out.
“Hold your fire,” Sherman ordered.
The gate swung wide, and from inside the castle there sounded the roll of a drum. The army drummer emerged, accompanied by an officer carrying a white flag.
“Bring them to me,” Sherman ordered, greatly relieved. A squad trotted toward the two soldiers and accompanied them forward, automatically falling in step with the drumbeat. The officer, a colonel, stopped in front of Sherman and saluted, which Sherman returned.
“I wish to speak to your commanding officer,” the British colonel said.
“I am General Sherman, commanding the American army.”
The officer took a folded sheet of paper from his belt. “This message is from His Grace the Duke of Cambridge. He writes, ‘To the commander of the American forces. There are women and children here, and I fear for their safety if this conflict continues. I therefore request you to send an emissary to discuss terms of surrender.’ ”
Sherman felt an intense wave of relief — but did not reveal it in his expression. “I shall go myself. Sergeant, pick a small squad to accompany me.”
It was a large and elegantly furnished room, awash with light from the ceiling-high windows. A tiny woman sat in a large chair, dressed in black, quite chubby, with a puffy face and perpetually open mouth and exophthalmic eyes. She wore a fur miniver over her shoulders and a white widow’s cap with a long veil, as well as a diamond-and-sapphire coronet. The group of ladies-in-waiting around her looked uneasy and frightened. Lord John Russell, diminutive and ancient, was at her side. Along with the uniformed Duke of Cambridge, appearing his usual assertive self.
General Sherman and his party stopped before the waiting group; no one spoke. After a moment Sherman turned away from the Queen and addressed the Duke of Cambridge.
“We have met before,” Sherman said.
“We have,” the Duke said, fighting to control his temper. “This is Lord John Russell, the Prime Minister.”
Sherman nodded and turned to Russell — presenting his back to the Queen. There were horrified gasps from the ladies, which he ignored. “You are leader of the government — while the Duke heads the army. Are you of a like mind that the hostilities are to cease?”
“Some discussion is needed…” Russell said. Sherman shook his head.
“That is out of the question. I was instructed by President Lincoln that the war would be ended only by unconditional surrender.”
“You presume too much, sir!” the Duke raged. “Surrender is a word not lightly used—”
Sherman silenced him with a curt wave of his hand. “It is the only word that I will use.” He turned back to the Queen. “Since you are said to rule supreme in this country, I must tell you that your war is lost. Unconditional surrender is your only option.”
Victoria’s mouth gaped even more widely; she had not been spoken to in this manner since she was a child.
“I cannot… will not,” she finally gasped.
“By God — this has gone far enough!” the Duke raged, stepping forward and pulling at his sword. Before it was free of its scabbard, two soldiers had seized him and prisoned his arms.
“Outrageous…” Russell gasped, but Sherman ignored them both and turned back to the Queen.
“I will cease all military operations as soon as surrender is agreed. You will remember that you sent the white flag to me. So tell me now, is the killing to stop?”
All eyes in the room were now on the diminutive figure in the large chair. The color had drained from her face and she pressed a black handkerchief to her lips. Her eyes found Lord Russell and sought help. He drew himself up but did not speak. When she turned back to General Sherman, she found no compassion in his grim expression. In the end she simply nodded and dropped back in the chair.
“Good,” Sherman said, then addressed himself to the Duke of Cambridge. “I will have the papers for surrender drawn up for you to sign in your capacity as commander of all the armed forces. The Prime Minister will sign as well. You will remain here until that is done.” Once again he spoke to the Queen.
“It is my understanding that you have a residence on the Isle of Wight named Osborne House. I will see to it that you are taken there with your family and servants. The war is now over.”
As he looked around at the luxury of Windsor Castle and the silent witnesses, Sherman could not hold back a sudden feeling of triumph.
They had done it. There would still be skirmishes, but with London taken and the Queen in protective custody, the war would undoubtedly be over.
Now all they had to do was win the peace.
BOOK THREE
DAWN OF A NEW AGE
A COUNTRY DIVIDED
It was a time for confusion, a time for control. The peoples of Great Britain were stunned into inaction by the sudden, earthshaking events, and they appeared to be unable to quite grasp the overwhelming tragedy that had befallen them. Superficially, after two days of uncertainty and near riots, life continued in what appeared to be a normal way. People must eat — so the farmers brought their produce to market. Shops and businesses reopened. The local constables, in a great part of the land, remained at their posts, symbols of law and order. Only in the larger cities was there disconcerting evidence that the world had indeed turned upside down. Blue-clad soldiers patrolled the streets, armed and ready for any exigency. They were there in all of the major train stations, billeted in the police barracks and in hotels, or in rows of neat bell tents in the city parks. At Aldershot and Woolwich, and other army camps, the regular troops were confined to barracks and disarmed, the volunteers and the yeomanry disbanded and sent home.
Cornwall and Plymouth were already occupied and more reinforcements were landed there. Trainloads of troops then went west and north and quietly took over Wales and the northern shires. Only Scotland remained undisturbed — although cut off from all communication with the south. The telegraph wires were down and the trains did not run. Scottish troops remained in their barracks for want of any instructions, while rumors were rife. The English newspapers did not arrive, while the Scottish ones, with access to valid information, had more wild speculation than news.
Martial law had been declared in the land and the national newspapers were the first victims. American officers were now sitting quietly in every editorial office and reading each day’s issues with great interest. There was no attempt at editorial censorship — the papers were allowed to print whatever they saw fit. However, if the Americans felt that editorial material was inaccurate, or might tempt the populace to riot, or in any way might affect the new peace, why then, the printed newspapers were simply not distributed. Within a few days the clear message sank home and a blandness and aura of harmony emanated from all their pages.
“You are sure that you are not going too far with this censorship, Gus?” General Sherman asked, slowly turning the pages of The Times. He had summoned Gustavus Fox to his office in Buckingham Palace. Fox smiled as he shook his head.